


The Red-Hooded Figure

by Miss_Snazzy



Series: The Sword, the Singer, and the Vessel [3]
Category: Supernatural, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Bella angsts over Edward, Confessions, Crossover, F/M, Hunting, New Moon AU, Obnoxious Flirting, Original Character Death(s), Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Supernatural: Season 3 AU, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-03
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-20 04:36:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 37,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/581371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miss_Snazzy/pseuds/Miss_Snazzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A brief respite quickly turns into another hunt for the trio when a girl is found mauled to death. Bella is still learning to cope with the shift in scenery, but what will she do when she runs into a familiar face?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

**Kennewick, Washington**

It hadn't taken long for the brothers and me to pack up and leave Spokane. With the Clancys behind bars and Kelly Tanner's spirit put to rest, there had been no reason to remain there. In fact, being seen in town any longer would have probably seemed suspicious.

I still felt a little uneasy over how we had left things. Although the supernatural threat had been taken care of, I couldn't help thinking about Mr. Denasy and what he had done to Nancy Higgins. I knew that the brothers didn't deal with that sort of thing, but I couldn't help feeling a distinct lack of closure.

Mr. Denasy had made me uncomfortable from the start and I couldn't stop imagining what would have happened if he had managed to corner me alone. Would I have ended up like Nancy Higgins? Would the brothers have cared then?

I knew that last thought was unfair, so I quickly pushed it away. The brothers did care—I knew that too—but they had limits to what they could do. Although they seemed willing to die to protect humankind from the supernatural, they couldn't very well save them from themselves.

So with a heavy heart, I pushed thoughts of Spokane away, determined to move on.

When I asked the brothers where we were headed next, they didn't seem to have a specific place in mind. "Somewhere in Washington" had been the clearest answer I could get, which I gathered meant that they didn't exactly have another hunt lined up.

Despite the accomplished feeling of finally solving the mystery behind the missing children, I couldn't say that I was disappointed. Jumping back into the fray of supernatural creatures didn't sound particularly appealing, at least, not with the strangle marks still fresh on my skin. I was grateful for the cold climate, knowing that the turtle neck sweater I was wearing wouldn't be glanced at twice.

The brothers were bickering as always—something about the type of music Dean listened to. I had honestly been tuning that out, wary of potentially hearing any lyrics that might remind me of Edward and cause some kind of breakdown. Despite this, I couldn't deny that the vibrating stereo and smooth drive was sort of relaxing. Even their arguing seemed to only add to this feeling.

"What do you think, Bella?"

"Huh?" was my intelligent reply, drawn out of my thoughts by Sam's voice.

"Sammy here," Dean jerked his thumb toward his brother, as if I had forgotten, "says he's sick of Metallica. Said he'd rather listen to Britney Spears."

Sam's exasperated sigh nearly made me smile.

"I never said Britney—"

"Yeah, like I didn't catch you singing along to that _Oops, I did it again_ song last week."

"I wasn't—"

"So what about you, Bella?" Dean cut him off again. "Don't tell me you're into that girly pop crap…"

"Um…" I bit my lip, uncertain of how to answer that.

I knew what I used to listen to, but the thought of mentioning something like Debussy now made my heart ache. Memories of private piano concerts in Forks and long afternoons in Phoenix with the radio on seemed so distant now.

"…I don't really listen to music," I finally replied, opting to go with honesty.

My eyes widened as Dean suddenly hit the brakes, making me jerk forward and nearly fall off my seat. I rubbed my forehead, which had slammed pretty hard into the back of their seats. When I looked up, it was to find Dean turned halfway around in his seat, staring at me with horror.

"Dude. Was that really necessary?" Sam groaned, though I could tell from the look on his face that he shared his brother's shock.

"Did you just say you don't listen to music?" Dean asked in disbelief.

"I used to," I replied, somewhat defensive. "Just…not anymore."

Dean continued to stare at me for a moment, likely waiting for an explanation I wouldn't give. When it became clear that I wasn't going to elaborate, he finally turned around, all the while shaking his head.

"That's just wrong."

"Dean—"

"You know it's true Sam. Hating music? That's psychotic."

"I don't _hate_ music," I interjected, starting to get annoyed. I was especially bothered that he was questioning my cognitive functions. "Just because I stopped listening, doesn't mean I hate it."

"What do you do when you're driving? Just sit there quietly?" Dean continued, nearly belligerent over the idea of someone not listening to music.

"I'm sure she doesn't…" Sam tried to defend me.

"I like Metallica," I finally revealed, fed up with Dean's accusations. "At least, I used to listen to them sometimes. I couldn't really name any of their songs though."

I was glad to hear only silence in reply and figured I had appeased Dean when he finally pulled back onto the road. I prepared myself to tune them out again, wanting to take some time to cool down my heated face, as well as my annoyance. If I had thought Dean was finished though, I was wrong.

"See, Sammy? Even Sweet Cheeks likes Metallica. And she hates music," Dean gloated.

Sam and I groaned, which Dean had no problem drowning out with the radio.

…

I trailed after Sam when we spotted Dean, who was twirling a set of keys to our new hotel room.

"Head's up!" he called and I suddenly found myself being pelted by hotel mints.

I tried to catch it, but it seemed that my poor coordination really knew no bounds. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Sam snatch his chocolate out of the air easily, while mine managed to whack me in the forehead before falling to the floor.

"Nice catch," Dean smirked, popping another mint in his mouth.

I quickly bent down to grab my piece, trying not to blush in embarrassment.

"I've never been good at catching things…" I explained needlessly. "…or hitting things. My classmates always knew to avoid me when I'm attempting anything athletic. I could make a volleyball dangerous," I laughed uneasily.

"I'd say I'm not surprised, but after watching you waste that ghost…" Dean trailed off, eyebrow raised.

"Guns are different," I replied, brows furrowed as I tried to think of how to explain. "Charlie used to have me practice every summer—at least, until Renee found out—and he always drilled it into my head how careful I needed to be because of how easily I could hurt someone…"

"Why don't you try treating sports like you do shooting?" Sam suggested.

I shook my head.

"I've tried. It's just not the same. I guess because sports aren't really supposed to be dangerous? I always tense up, wondering who I'm going to end up injuring. With guns, I've always known how easily I could hurt someone. You know what I mean?" I asked, glancing between the brothers hopefully.

"Nope. You're just strange, Sweet Cheeks," Dean replied after a moment.

I felt my face fall, disappointed that I hadn't gotten my point across. I'm strange? I didn't need Dean to tell me that.

"He's kidding," Sam explained.

I looked to Dean for confirmation.

"Well if you're gonna pout…" Dean sighed, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, I was kidding," he admitted.

I felt myself blush, embarrassed over letting a simple joke bother me so much.

"Sorry," I apologized sheepishly.

Dean rolled his eyes again, before turning to lead us to our new room. I lagged behind, trying to collect myself before following them in. I paused in the doorway when I noticed the two double beds and the lack of a third.

"Um…there's only two beds," I pointed out.

Sam glanced up from the bag he had been rummaging through.

"I thought you asked for three beds?" Sam directed the question at Dean.

"I did," Dean replied, looking around the room. "Are you sure there isn't a third somewhere?"

I nearly rolled my eyes at the implication that I had managed to overlook an entire bed in the small motel room. When it became apparent that my eyesight hadn't gone bad and there really wasn't a third bed, Sam gave Dean a pointed look.

"Alright," Dean relented, sitting up from his reclined position on one of the beds. "I'll go see if they've got a cot or something."

I shifted out of the doorway to allow Dean to pass, keeping my gaze averted to the floor. Sam had stopped fussing with his bags and I glanced up when I felt attention settle on me.

"Don't worry, if they don't have a cot, we'll just get an extra room," Sam offered reassuringly.

I smiled back in relief.

That relief quickly faded when Dean returned with a frown on his face.

"No cots," Dean explained, continuing before Sam could interrupt, "and they don't have anymore rooms. I already checked."

I bit my lip, suddenly worried. I watched Dean walk back to his bed, resuming his relaxed position against the headboard.

"Where will I sleep?" I asked.

"Here, you can bunk with me," Dean offered, patting the bedspread. "Sasquatch might roll over in the night and accidentally squish you."

Sam sighed at what I could only assume was one of Dean's colorful nicknames for him. If he said anything in return, I didn't hear it, too caught up on what Dean had said.

"You want us to…share?"

"I'm not going to take advantage, if that's what you're worried about," Dean replied with a roll of his eyes, misinterpreting my reluctance. "I'm not into jailbait. Your virtue is safe."

"I'm eighteen," I blurted, though I instantly regretted that when Dean raised an eyebrow in response. "I mean, I'm not worried about that…" I rushed to explain, trying to repress a blush. "I—I just… Will we have enough room?"

Although space was an issue, that wasn't really what I was worried about. I was concerned with our proximity to each other, which I had begun to realize had a weird affect on me. I couldn't place a name to it, but there had been an odd sort of awareness with Dean's chest pressed against my back as we hid in the Manallos' bushes. Even worse, I had been caught staring when Dean was changing last night.

I hadn't meant to stare, I had just been so shocked that he would drop his pants right in the open, without thought or care to the presence of his brother and I in the room. Sure, he had been wearing boxers underneath, but it had still come as a surprise.

There was also the fact that I hadn't been that close to anyone in a long time. After Edward left, I had taken to clutching a large body-sized pillow in the night, desperate for something to hold onto. I wasn't sure how I would behave with someone actually beside me, but I was certain it would probably end up being embarrassing.

"It should be fine," Dean shrugged, unbothered.

He seemed to be the only one.

…

The brothers—or more accurately, Dean—had abandoned me once again in favor of hitting one of the many local bars. Sam was elbow-deep in research, though he wouldn't tell me what for. Although he had offered to allow me to accompany him to visit the city records, I had declined. It was obvious that this was something Sam wanted to do alone and as curious as I was, I didn't want to intrude.

Staying in the motel didn't have an appeal though, for I was already beginning to feel a little claustrophobic. After being cooped up in the car, I was eager for some fresh air. Besides, as I sat alone in the room, I couldn't stop thinking about what would happen tonight.

I needed to escape this room for a while, if only to try to stop obsessing over sleeping arrangements. Aside from taking refuge on the floor, there really wasn't a way out of this. Of course, that option was thrown out because I had heard a few too many horror stories about the cleanliness of motel rooms.

Apart from that, I really didn't want to make a big deal about it. Dean seemed entirely unaffected by the idea, so there was no reason that I should be—even if I was worried about having a nightmare or possibly physically harming him in the night.

I really just needed to suck it up. I had been through far worse and there wasn't any point in dwelling on something I had no control over.

I rolled my eyes, knowing that even after acknowledging that, I wouldn't be able to help myself.

I slipped on my coat and grabbed my bag, pausing to write a quick note on a pad of paper next to the phone. Although I had a feeling that the brothers wouldn't be happy about me leaving the motel room by myself, I couldn't stay here.

At any rate, I knew I wouldn't really be any safer by keeping myself cooped up. Victoria could break down doors and ghosts could just flicker into existence at any possible moment. It didn't matter if I stayed here or not if someone came after me.

So with the feeling that my actions were justified, I left the room, trying not to appear bothered as the door clicked shut behind me. I didn't have a key and therefore wouldn't be able to get back in—at least, not until one of the brothers returned.

Even so, I wouldn't walk too far away from the motel. I might want fresh air, but I definitely didn't want to worry them. If they wanted to find me, it would be as easy as cruising around the corner.

I strolled down the street, taking in my surroundings. There were a few stores that I recognized, but I avoided them, more interested with continuing my walk. There were people milling in and out, just going about their daily business.

Although the area wasn't particularly quiet, I did find it calming. No one knew me here—I could've been a lamppost for all of the attention they paid me. After living in such a small town as Forks, it was nice to fade back into the background, as I had in Phoenix.

No one knew about my heartbreak or had witnessed my descent into despair. I could truly be invisible here. Lost in my own mind, I didn't notice the girl until her yell startled me from my thoughts.

The girl was short and lanky, with the hair to match. She couldn't be more than thirteen, and was currently being pulled by a dog nearly twice her size. The beast had quite obviously gained control of their speed and direction because even as the girl tried to stop him, he continued heading straight for me.

My eyes widened and I attempted to step back, but I wasn't quite quick enough. The dog didn't even pause as he rammed into my legs, causing me to fall like a stack of potatoes into a puddle of mud. The girl shouted back an apology, but was unable to do much else as her dog continued to barrel down the street.

I slowly pried myself up off the ground, blushing when I noticed the looks I was getting. My whole front was plastered with mud and I shivered as the damp material of my coat soaked into my skin. I pushed my hair out of my face, grimacing at the mud that I also found caked in there.

I was pretty sure that I looked like a complete wreck, but what was more troublesome was the increasingly dropping temperature. While I had been able to ignore the weather when I was all bundled up, I found that entirely too difficult with my coat now soaked.

I needed a change of clothes, but before I could walk more than a few feet, I remembered that I was still locked out of the motel room. I could've smacked myself at that point, beginning to regret heading off on my own.

I thought about finding Sam and asking him to let me back in, but I had no idea where he had gone. I knew he was looking into the city records, but there was no telling how long it would take me to locate him. Dean was also a lost cause for similar reasons, and because I doubted I would be allowed into the bar.

Besides, I was embarrassed by my clumsiness—even if my fall was more of the dog's fault than mine—and I had a feeling that Dean would tease me mercilessly if he saw me like this.

I sighed, chewing on my lip as I debated what to do. I glanced around my surroundings, hoping that a solution would jump out at me. My gaze paused on a small shop—one of those privately owned types of places that probably only carried one-of-a-kind items.

Although it didn't seem to be an actual clothing store, I did notice a few pieces in the window. I tucked my hair behind my ears—I suppose to make myself look more presentable—before quickly retreating into the store.

I sighed in relief as I was enveloped by warmth and carefully slid out of my coat to drape it over my arm. When I was certain that I wouldn't be dripping mud wherever I went, I moved further into the store.

"Welcome to the Treasure Trove," an old woman greeted me with a smile. "Feel free to look around. I'm sure you'll find what you're looking for," she added cheerfully, before returning to her book.

I nodded silently, my lips quirking upward in an attempt to smile back. It was difficult to muster the same level of enthusiasm, but I doubted that was entirely due to the mud.

I meandered through the shop, pausing to glance at a knick knack here or there. There was quite a variety of trinkets, many of which I didn't think I would classify as treasures. I moved onto the clothing, flipping through them in search of something to replace my jacket until I could get it dry and clean.

My hand paused on a red sweatshirt, my fingers appreciative of the soft material. Although it was a bit flashy for my tastes, it was plain and would obviously be comfortable. I pulled the item off the rack, returning to the front of the store.

The old woman looked up at the sound of my approach and set her book down with a smile.

"I see you've found what you were looking for," she smiled. "Good choice."

"Yeah," I muttered, unsure how to respond to that.

I handed her a twenty—I was glad that I had the presence of mind to grab the money I had stashed at home—and watched her ring up the purchase before folding the sweatshirt delicately and slipping it into a cloth bag. I raised an eyebrow at that, surprised that she hadn't used the same generic plastic bags that nearly every store did.

"Recycled bags. I think they add a nice touch," she grinned, noticing my look.

I nodded, though I couldn't help thinking that it was a waste, particularly since I planned to put my soiled coat in it once I left the store. I didn't tell her that though, not wanting to hurt her feelings. I would wash the bag out along with my coat once I returned to the motel room.

"Have a magical day!" she called to my back as I left the store.

Bag in hand, I walked down a block before pulling the sweatshirt out. I quickly slipped it on, glad to escape the biting wind. I smiled, noticing that it was as soft as I thought it would be. I stuffed my dirty coat into the bag and continued to walk down the street—this time, making sure that I wasn't close to any muddy puddles in case another dog decided to attack.

...


	2. Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Not all of us grow up like the Bradys."

After another hour or so of wandering, I was sufficiently bored. I didn't know how long the brothers would be gone, but I hoped that one of them had returned by now. The invisibility I was previously grateful for was beginning to wear on me.

I think being alone had stopped being fun when I came across the local bookstore. I don't know what had prompted me to walk in—old habits or masochism—but when I found myself staring at my once beloved classics, I realized what a mistake it had been.

I practically staggered out of the store, as if the quickly resurfacing memories had given me whiplash. There was a reason why I didn't read anymore and I could feel my composure slipping as it made itself known once again.

I took off at a brisk walk, trying to push Edward from my mind. I needed to stop thinking about him if I was ever going to make it through this whole Victoria ordeal. As long as I was travelling with the brothers, I couldn't allow myself to fall back into my old ways. I couldn't afford to be numb right now, not when the potential to face any manner of supernatural creature was so high.

Thinking of the brothers and how weak I would seem to them if I allowed myself to fall to pieces, helped me bury the sadness. Several deep breaths later, I was feeling far more steady than before. With great effort, I relaxed my tense muscles and began to walk again.

After my near breakdown, the area had lost my interest and I only wanted to return to the motel room and the easy teasing of the brothers.

"What are you doing?"

I tensed, jerking my head in the direction of the disgruntled voice, but sighed with relief when I realized it was Dean. Despite having spent our first couple of hours in this town in a bar, he was sitting behind the wheel of his car, coaxing alongside me.

Noting the expression on his face, I rushed to answer his question.

"Um...I was just...going for a walk?"

I didn't mean to make it sound like a question. My reply seemed to annoy him further.

"What part of _do what we say_ , did you not get?"

"Well, technically, you guys never told me to stay in the motel room..." I pointed out sheepishly.

Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation, but pulled to a stop.

"Get in, Miss Technicality," he grunted.

Not wanting to incur his wrath, I quickly walked around the other side and opened the door. When I tried to move into my seat, Dean stopped me.

"Sammy's not here. You don't have to ride in the back," he pointed out, raising an eyebrow as if he questioned my mental processes.

I blushed, but slid into the passenger seat. I winced when I accidently slammed the door and clenched my eyes shut, preparing myself for a long lecture about properly handling Dean's beloved car. My eyes shot open when I felt a sudden sting in my leg.

"Did you just flick me?" I demanded, my voice high from surprise.

"For slamming my door," he explained, keeping his eyes on the road.

"I didn't mean to, you know—"

I was cut off by another sting.

"Hey!"

Dean was smirking and I wanted to ask him what I had done to earn another flick, but decided against it. After all, one of us should probably be the adult in this situation and if the look on his face was any indication, I knew it would have to be me.

"Sorry," I muttered, buckling my seatbelt.

Dean's reply was another flick to my leg. This time, I managed to restrain myself from reacting verbally, though I did shift toward the window, moving as far away from him as possible.

"Don't do it again," he finally replied, still smirking.

I rolled my eyes at his childish behavior, choosing to remain pressed against the car door. Although it wasn't terribly comfortable, I was too stubborn to return to my original spot. I wasn't quite sure Dean had gotten it out of his system.

A few minutes passed in silence in which Dean continued to focus on the road and I stayed leaning heavily on the door. I glanced at the lock a few times and quietly pushed it down as I imagined accidently falling out of the car. Considering my luck, I knew it would be stupid to risk it. Even leaning against the locked door felt like tempting fate, but I was too stubborn to move back.

"That doesn't look very comfortable," Dean observed.

Although I didn't look at him, I could feel his gaze on the side of my face.

"I'm fine."

Another minute passed before he spoke again.

"I'm not going to do it again," Dean revealed in a mild tone.

"Okay," I replied, keeping my gaze resolutely directed out the window.

I jerked, squealing in surprise as I felt the pressure of Dean's finger poking into my side. Hitting a ticklish spot, I momentarily lost control of my body and fell over in my seat. I could feel a blush quickly rising in my cheeks as I pulled my face up from where it had landed on his arm.

Dean was laughing hard as I scooted back in my seat, trying to regain some composure. Neither of us said anything for a few minutes, though the silence was periodically broken by a random chuckle bubbling out of him.

"You're ticklish."

"No," I denied blithely.

"You are," he grinned.

"I'm not."

I could feel Dean's stare, but I refused to meet his gaze. I was embarrassed and confused by his playful behavior. Although Dean had cracked many jokes since I joined him and his brother, this was the first time he had messed with me physically. I began to wonder if maybe it was unsafe to be in the car with him at the moment, as he must have drank a little too much at the bar.

It was strange to have someone invade my personal space after going so long within my own buffer zone—one that no one dared cross, apart from Jacob. With him, it had been easy to write off his behavior as that of the brother I never had, but I didn't feel quite right applying that logic to Dean.

Perhaps it was the age difference, or maybe the fact that I didn't have memories of him making pies out of mud. I couldn't imagine Dean doing anything as childish as that, even when he was young. Although we hadn't known each other for long, he struck me as the kind of person who was forced to grow up too early.

Dean reminded me of one of those old hard-boiled detectives, always ready with a loaded gun and a sarcastic quip. I didn't know where I would fit in all that. I definitely wasn't a femme fatale. Maybe I was just the client, though that sounded a little sad in my opinion.

I was jarred from my thoughts by the sound of the door behind me.

"Find anything?" Dean asked.

I unbuckled my seatbelt, preparing to switch seats. When I glanced over my shoulder, Sam was already sliding into the backseat. Noticing my confusion, he offered me a smile and nodded at my seatbelt, indicating that I should put it back on. I was surprised, but I quickly refastened it as Dean pulled away from the curb.

"Not really. Some arsonists burned down a park three years ago, but that's about it," Sam replied. "Doesn't look like we'll find anything to hunt here."

Dean sighed, looking very put out by that.

"Might as well stop somewhere to eat then," Dean spoke, his tone slightly brighter at the prospect of food.

Although my appetite had taken a leave of absence back in Spokane—it was kind of hard to think about eating after learning what happened to those boys—it came back with a vengeance at Dean's words. Judging by how quickly the brothers jumped out of the car when we parked, I would say they felt the same.

I followed the brothers into the diner, offering a smile in thanks when Sam held the door open for me. I watched Dean stride over to one of the booths, his gaze surveying the restaurant with the kind of alertness that must have come from years of hunting. That, or maybe he was just really hungry and was hoping to spot a waitress.

I chuckled to myself at the thought and slid into the seat across from him. Dean quirked an eyebrow at my amusement, while Sam stared silently.

"What's so funny?"

Coughing, I shook my head. I kept my mouth covered with my hand, trying to quell my smile. I will admit that my mind had begun to run a little wild—I was now picturing Dean marrying a woman made of pie. There was no doubt that she would die not long after the union when her husband was particularly famished.

I could feel my face heat up as both brothers' attention shifted to me, waiting expectantly for an explanation. Thankfully, the waitress showed up just in time.

"I'm Sandy, I'll be your waitress tonight. Can I get you some drinks to start?" she asked tiredly.

Sandy's voice had the dull tone of a woman who was working long hours and probably hadn't slept much in the last decade. She had such pronounced bags under her eyes that they had become an essential part of her facial structure.

Lack of sleep and long shifts in a food establishment had made her hair limp and greasy. Her uniform was splattered with the evidence of her various food spills. She barely wrote a thing on her pad as we gave her our orders.

I imagined myself in her place, substituting her apron with a bright orange vest from Newton's Outfitters. I watched my life play out through her—from agonizing over Edward's absence to developing the kind of apathy that made it okay to waste away in Forks.

I shook my head, trying to escape those thoughts. That scenario sounded entirely too likely when I remembered my zombie phase. As much as I missed the numbness at times, I didn't want my life to turn out like Sandy the waitress.

…

"Is it really that good?" I asked, beginning to feel envious as Dean chewed his burger happily.

My own meal was pitiful. I grimaced at my baked potato as if it might sprout legs. I should have gotten something safer like Dean had.

"Not the best I've head," Dean paused to take another bite, chewing for a moment before continuing, "but pretty damn good."

I nodded, sighing as I resumed picking at my food.

"How's yours, Sam?"

"Fine."

Sam had been quiet since we picked him up. I would have thought that his mood had something to do with the city records, but he had already told us that he hadn't really found anything.

Dean didn't comment on Sam's silence, but I did notice him giving Sam these looks. Whatever was bothering Sam, Dean knew about it.

Admittedly, I was feeling a little left out. I tried to remind myself that just because they had taken me on the road with them, that didn't mean I was entitled to know their secrets.

I was curious though, and worried as Sam seemed to be withdrawing more and more. I hoped that my presence wasn't contributing to that, but I couldn't be sure.

I still didn't know all that much about the brothers. The conscientious part of me thought that I had done something very stupid—packing up and leaving with what were essentially two strangers. However, my gut told me to trust them, so I tried to push those thoughts aside.

"So how long have you two been hunting?" I asked.

This was my chance to learn more about them. We weren't investigating anything and we were playing the waiting game with Victoria. All we had right now was time on our hands.

The brothers exchanged a glance—as they were prone to do—but didn't answer. Neither brother seemed particularly willing to broach the subject. I didn't expect the question to bother them so much.

"Come on. Who am I going to tell?" I joked, growing uneasy from their silence.

I glanced at them, noting how Dean was quick to take a bite when my gaze landed on him. He shrugged at me, as if helpless to his own eating habits. I huffed, rolling my eyes at him. He smirked and continued to shove fries in his mouth in reply.

I was surprised when Sam spoke.

"Pretty much our entire lives."

I knew that the brothers must've been at this for some time, but I didn't expect that.

"Wow..." I breathed, trying to come up with a response to that. "That doesn't sound like a good environment for children," I thought aloud.

I winced the moment those words left my mouth. Dean's lips had thinned and Sam dropped his gaze to his food. I wanted to smack myself for being so stupid. Now that I thought about it, bringing up their childhood was a horrible idea, considering how likely it was that the person they lost was a family member.

It reinforced my theory about the journal. Despite being unable to get a close look, the journal was old enough to belong to someone from their childhood—maybe even a parent.

"No...it wasn't," Sam finally replied quietly.

I chewed on my lip, worried that I had really hurt them.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that," I apologized, softly.

"It is what it is," Dean finally spoke up, flinging one of his fries onto his plate. "Not all of us grow up like the Bradys."

I hadn't grown up like the Brady Bunch, but I decided not to point that out. Although I had spent most of my life taking care of both myself and Renee, that paled in comparison to what Sam and Dean's childhood must've been like.

I felt low and guilty for once thinking that my life had been hard.

The rest of the meal passed in mostly silence as I couldn't think of anything to say.

...

I trailed behind them, uneasy about our sleeping arrangements. Dean sat on one side of the bed, unlacing and removing his shoes. I blushed when he stood and took off his jeans as well. He barely glanced at me as he slid into bed, folding his arms behind his head. I marveled at how unaffected he seemed over this.

With a deep sigh that did little to relax me, I moved toward my bag and pulled out my pajamas. Although Dean wasn't bothered by undressing with an audience, I needed the privacy of the bathroom. I splashed water on my face once I finished changing, trying to calm myself down. I was aware that I was stalling, but given the circumstances, I felt justified.

After the tense meal at the diner, my apprehension about tonight had only grown. I felt awkward and unsure how to act around him. The fear of once again putting my foot in my mouth had grown along with my worries about which of my sleeping habits would make themselves known during the night.

With a heavy sigh, I flicked off the light and left the bathroom. Fumbling my way in the dark, I bit back a grunt as I stumbled into something before finally making contact with the bedspread.

I slid onto the bed, mindful of how much space remained between Dean and I. My arm wrapped around the edge of the mattress as I turned on my side, putting enough distance to keep our bodies from touching.

I blew out a breath, attempting to relax my tense muscles. When one of my legs accidentally nudged one of Dean's, I stiffened and quickly brought them closer to the edge.

"You know, I'm not gonna bite," Dean grumbled.

An unexpected snort slipped out, which I quickly stifled in my pillow. I had spent months sleeping beside a vampire and I had never worried about being bitten.

"So she _does_ have a sense of humor. Huh."

"What?"

"I was beginning to think you didn't know how to laugh."

"I've laughed," I protested, though I was finding it difficult to come up with an example.

Although I was still depressed about Edward, I thought I had gotten marginally better since those early days without him. If Dean had been privy to my zombie days, I'm sure he would see the improvement too.

My brows furrowed as I thought about how things would have played out if Laurent and the brothers had found me in the forest that night instead of the meadow months later. Would Sam and Dean have been so willing to take me with them, to protect me, had they seen how broken I was?

"Whatever you say, Sweet Cheeks," Dean chuckled.

I frowned, grateful that things had happened like they did.

...

I moved aimlessly through the forest. I had been searching for Edward for hours, it seemed. I was beginning to feel like he was a lost cause. As long as Edward didn't want to be found, I was certain that he would remain out of reach.

I paused as I reached a door in the middle of the forest, seemingly standing up on its own. It was a curious thing to find among the trees, but didn't appear as strange as it probably should have.

I stood poised to open the door, my hand raised halfway before it was abruptly opened on its own. I managed to side-step the swinging door, narrowly avoiding a collision. I stared into the room, hesitating for a moment before entering.

Mr. Denasy stood at the front of the room, leaning against his desk. I approached slowly, noting his blank expression even as I grew closer. Although I grew more uncomfortable as the distance between us lessened, my legs seemed to have a mind of their own.

I was supposed to be here. _They_ needed me to be here. There was something I was supposed to figure out and the key to that information laid in Mr. Denasy's hands.

I stopped a few feet away, finally gaining control of my legs. Mr. Denasy had remained stoic during my progress toward him, but once I stopped, he seemed to come to life.

He moved closer to where I stood, now rooted to the spot. I noticed that he wasn't quite so stoic anymore and suddenly, I wasn't just uncomfortable. I was _frightened_.

His hands reached out to grasp my arms, his touch feather light despite the twisted sneer on his face. Even with what I had come to know about him, the expression seemed odd there—the anger, ill-suited for his face.

His grip abruptly tightened, bordering on painful. I watched his face slowly morph into another who was much more adept at pulling off the hateful look—Joseph Clancy Jr.

I struggled, but to no avail. I whimpered in pain as terror gripped my heart.

 _Can't escape, can't escape, can't escape_ , ran through my head in a chant and I couldn't breathe.

He didn't say anything this time—just smiled that same sinister grin he wore when he threatened not to let me _enjoy it too_. Somehow...the silence was worse.

...

_Can't escape, can't escape, can't escape._

I thrashed against his hold, desperate to get away. A heavy weight kept me pressed down, restraining my movements. I sucked in a breath, determined to scream my lungs out for help, but was quickly muffled by a warm hand.

"Stop it, Bella! Just _calm down_ ," a familiar male voice grunted.

I paused in my struggle for a moment, blinking rapidly in an attempt to make out his face in the darkness.

"It's me—Dean," he rasped, removing his hand.

I sucked in a breath, feeling my tense muscles finally relax as my nightmare faded away. Reality replaced the haunting images and with it came the awareness of whose body had been restraining mine. I felt a blush heat my cheeks as I noticed the way Dean's torso pressed into mine, his upper body keeping me pinned while his hands held my wrists against the mattress.

"You can—you can let go now," I croaked.

Dean's hands remained for a moment longer, probably gauging my current coherence. When he was satisfied that I wouldn't start thrashing again, he released me.

My head fell back onto my pillow, my breathing still a bit shallow as the adrenaline caused by my nightmare began to wear off. I felt shaky and tense, unable to shake the horror of finding myself in the ghost's grasp once again.

I blinked away the tears that threatened to escape and became distinctly uncomfortable when I realized Dean hadn't laid back down. I shifted my gaze to him, sitting up nervously when I found his stare leveled on me.

"I'm sorry that I...woke you," I spoke softly, but I couldn't quite manage to keep the shakiness out of my voice.

I began to get worried when Dean didn't reply, simply continuing to stare at me. It was unnerving to be the focus of his attention and I was grateful for the cloak of darkness. His eyes must have become relatively keen in the dark after hunting monsters for so many years, but I hoped that he couldn't see my current state.

"I'll just...um..." my voice trailed off.

I didn't know what I had planned to say, but I couldn't bring myself to continue. My throat had begun to close up and my eyes suddenly felt watery. I didn't know why, but I couldn't seem to force down the emotions that so often plagued me after a nightmare.

I felt like I had been rubbed raw and I couldn't just...pretend. I couldn't bring myself to ignore my feelings, nor could I overlook the fact that Dean was still staring at me, almost like he understood.

I laid my head back onto the pillow and turned away from him, shifting closer to the edge of the mattress. I didn't want him to see me in this moment of weakness. I sniffed as quietly as I could, willing the tears to dissipate.

I tensed when I felt his hand on my arm, squeezing gently. The tears fell easily now and I sucked in a shuddering breath when I felt his hand move to my hair. He remained silent and as his fingers began running through the strands, I felt my body relax. I fell asleep to the gentle caress, wondering if there was more to Dean Winchester than a man hardened by the life of a Hunter.

...


	3. Part III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Don't worry, it's our job."

When I awoke, the bed was empty. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Part of me was glad that he had spared me the embarrassment of what had happened last night. Another part was a little disappointed that he had disappeared before I could thank him.

I shook those thoughts away. It was better that he wasn't here. It gave me time to collect myself, not to mention that it saved me from the awkwardness of waking in the same bed, possibly needing to explain myself for my minor breakdown.

However, despite my relief, I was curious about where the brothers had gone. The room was quiet and Sam's bed was already made. I felt a little hurt at the realization that they must have gone to breakfast without me.

I sighed, rubbing my face tiredly. It was obvious that I was getting too attached to the brothers. I couldn't afford to feel hurt when they left me out—not when I knew how this would end. Eventually we would run into Victoria and once she was no longer a threat, they would dump me back in Forks, leaving me there to rot.

I slipped out of bed, pausing to straighten the covers before grabbing my stuff and retreating to the bathroom. The hot water felt amazing, though the pressure left much to be desired. I scrubbed away the salty residue of the tears on my face, sighing at the relief of being clean.

I got dressed in a simple shirt and jeans, confident that my new sweatshirt would keep the bruises on my neck hidden. They had faded a little more in the night and I hoped they would be gone in the next couple of days. I was already growing tired of wearing turtlenecks, feeling strangely claustrophobic as the material covered my neck.

I took my time drying my hair, grateful that the room was equipped with one of those miniature hairdryers attached to the wall. It took twice as long as a normal one, but at least it worked. Besides, I wasn't in a hurry and truthfully, I needed the distraction.

When I finished, I put my things away and walked back to the bed, perching myself on the edge. I glanced around the tiny room, contemplating what I could do until the brothers returned. Although Dean hadn't really said anything about my trip outside yesterday, I was wary about leaving without speaking to them first.

I knew we were kind of just laying low and biding our time here, but I wanted to know what their plans were for the day. If they were anything like yesterday, then I would probably try exploring the town again.

I puffed out a breath, frustrated that I had no way of contacting them. They must have had cell phones, considering their reaction when they found out I didn't. I should have asked for their numbers days ago, if only for emergencies.

Admittedly, my current predicament didn't fit that bill by any stretch of the imagination. I was just getting really bored and apart from watching television, there wasn't anything to do in here. If this were an airport, I would have already raided one of the stores for some brain teasers.

I groaned, falling back on the bed. I stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, letting my mind wander. When thoughts of Forks and my life there inevitably resurfaced, I quickly sat up, determined to occupy myself by any means necessary.

I decided on cleaning the motel room. I knew that there were probably maids for this, but I needed something to keep me busy. I started with remaking the beds, focusing on smoothing out every wrinkle. I raised an eyebrow when I found a knife hidden under one of the pillows, shaking my head as I replaced it after.

I continued moving through the room, taking extra care as I cleaned everything, hoping to prolong the task. I paused when after straightening some of the brothers' clothes, I came across the journal I had noticed Dean flipping through.

I stared down at it, unable to deny my curiosity. Judging by the way Dean treated this book, it must be important. I knew it was wrong to even entertain the idea of looking through it. However, no matter how hard I tried to put it back down, I couldn't seem to let it go.

I was so bored and I had been dying to find out what was inside. Surely one quick peek wouldn't hurt anything and if I returned it before the brothers returned, they would never have to know.

I bit my lip, feeling extremely guilty as I carefully unfastened the strap and opened the journal. Now that I was looking through it, I noticed that the book seemed more like a collage of information than a journal. I flipped to a page at random that was scribbled with notes. There was a drawing in the middle of the words that looked like a tribal painting one might find on a cave wall.

 _Wendigo_  
(evil that devours)  
They're hundreds of years old. Each one was once a man that became a cannibal. Eating human flesh gave them abilities—speed, strength, immortality. Takes years for them to turn. They're always hungry.

They hibernate for years at a time. They can last long winters by keeping their victims alive to feed off of when they're awake. They can imitate human voices to lure their prey. They can be killed with fire...

I stopped reading, somewhat horrified to discover that something like this—this _Wendigo_ , could exist. Vampires and ghosts were one thing, but this sounded a little farfetched. Wouldn't someone have noticed something like this running around?

It only took me a moment to realize how stupid that thought was. _Of course_ no one would really notice anything. I had learned that first hand with the Cullens, who had not only been able to attend school and have careers, but hunted in pretty much their own back yard. It had been easy to convince people that all of the human deaths were the cause of animal attacks too.

I flipped through a couple more pages, feeling my eyebrows raise higher with each entry. Many were familiar to me as the result of the numerous horror movies I had opted to watch to ensure the lack of memories of Edward. I wondered how much of the cinematic lore was true, when I came across something that made me pause.

_Crossroads Demon  
They make deals with humans, granting whatever they wish for in exchange for their soul at a specific time in the future. They can be summoned by burying a container at the center of a crossroads with these items inside—your photograph, the bone of a black cat, and dirt from a graveyard. When the wisher's time runs out, the demon sends hellhounds to collect payment..._

I stared at the entry, too many thoughts running through my head to think straight. I was drawn out of my shock at the sound of something rustling outside the door. Panicked at the idea of being caught, I quickly put the journal back where I found it and hid in the bathroom, turning on the sink for good measure.

I listened to the door being unlocked, holding my breath as they entered.

"Bella?"

I bit my lip at the sound of Sam's voice, trying to calm down as I replied.

"In the bathroom!" I called, hoping I didn't sound as shaky as I felt.

"We brought breakfast," Sam replied.

His tone sounded pleasant and not remotely suspicious. I exhaled quietly in relief, taking the time to wash my hands before finally emerging from the bathroom. Sam offered me a smile, which I hesitantly returned. He gestured to the table behind him, indicating the bags and a big pink box that he must've placed there.

"We weren't sure what you'd want... We got some donuts, but if you want a breakfast burrito, help yourself."

My smile became a little forced as his kind actions made me feel even more guilty. I guess it turned out that they hadn't forgotten about me this morning. They were probably just letting me sleep in and they even went through the trouble of bringing me breakfast.

Meanwhile, I had thanked them by betrayed their trust while they were gone.

I was beginning to feel really low, but I tried not to let it show as I walked over to the table. As terrible as I felt for my actions, I had gotten something very valuable out of it—learning about the Crossroads Demon. The implications of what that information could do weren't lost on me, but I couldn't think about any of that now.

"Whoa. Was the maid here?"

I whipped around at the sound of Dean's voice, but quickly averted my gaze. Remembering what happened last night, I tried to focus my attention on sifting through the food they had brought. Although I felt uneasy, I was determined to eat enough to show that the brothers' kindness hadn't gone wasted—even if I had to force it down.

"No..." I answered, absently picking a sprinkled donut out of the box. I glanced up and upon noticing Dean's questioning look, I explained, "I...um...got bored."

"You didn't have to do all this, Bella," Sam reprimanded, though there wasn't any bite in his tone.

I looked down, beginning to grow a little embarrassed.

"Like I said...I got bored. It was nothing."

I took a bite out of my donut to busy myself. I watched Dean move over to the table and set down his bags before sifting through them for his own breakfast.

"Sorry we were gone for so long," Sam offered. My smile fell with what he said next. "Dean said you had a tough night, so we figured we'd let you sleep in."

I couldn't stop myself from glancing at Dean and noted how his gaze remained focused on his food. I averted mine after a moment, worried about the sudden tension I could feel between us. I should have known there would be some kind of backlash after what happened last night, regardless if he had been there when I woke up or not.

I continued to nibble on my donut, trying to ignore the awkwardness. Sam and Dean were eating their breakfast burritos, so it was oddly quiet in the room. I wondered if I was the only one feeling anxious about the silence. I swallowed, determined not let my uneasiness show.

"So...what's on the agenda for today?" I asked in as pleasant a tone as I could muster.

Dean wiped his mouth. "I dunno. There's nothing to hunt, so I guess we'll look around...get a feel for the local color."

"More like the local _talent_ ," Sam teased.

"That too," Dean smirked.

I grabbed another donut to focus on, beginning to grow uncomfortable with the conversation. I wanted to change the subject, but I wondered if my desperation would become too obvious if I did. I steeled myself to continue listening, absently plucking a bottle of lemonade out of one of the bags.

I unscrewed the cap and took a quick drink to wash down the food. I looked down at the lid in my hand, slowly turning it between my fingers. The brothers' banter began to fade away as I was suddenly struck with a sense of déjà-vu—an old memory I hadn't thought about in some time.

As I became lost in my thoughts, long and slender fingers replaced mine, spinning the lid on its side. I remembered Edward's crooked finger at lunch and my surprise that he wanted me to sit with him. He had been so distant and cold before then and I was so terribly confused.

Parts of our conversation filtered back in as I stared fixatedly at the bottle cap.

_I told you—I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up._

I clenched my jaw, willing the thoughts to stop. I knew it was pointless—the memory had already slipped through.

This was why I had spent all of those months shutdown, determined not to think, not to feel. The idea of forgetting Edward was terrifying, but the pain of actually remembering was _agonizing_. Without my carefully constructed walls of indifference, I couldn't keep the memories suppressed like they should be.

This memory of this random piece of one of our conversations made me think and that _hurt_. Edward had put so much effort into staying away from me before we got together—a fact that he made sure I was very aware of.

We probably never would have become an item if he hadn't given up—if I hadn't _worn him down_.

That thought made my heart twist painfully. Were my feelings so obvious, so persistent and _nagging_ that he just couldn't take it anymore? Did he only reciprocate to placate me? Was he hoping that I would eventually bore of him, thus allowing him to finally live in peace?

Of course, I hadn't gotten sick of him. I couldn't have had enough of him. He must have realized this and that was when his patience must have run out.

"Bella?"

I was startled out of my thoughts at the sound of my name. My gaze darted around the room, bouncing off each brother. They were both staring at me and I looked away, willing the burn from my eyes. I struggled to compose myself, hoping my voice didn't catch when I finally replied.

"What?"

My response came out a little shaky, but it was the best I could muster right now.

"Are you alright?" Sam asked, obviously concerned.

I swallowed, glancing down at the lid still clenched in my fist. I relaxed my hand.

"Yeah...just went down the wrong pipe," I lied, clearing my throat.

Between the speculative and knowing looks I was now getting from both of them, I knew my lie hadn't fooled anyone. I refocused my attention on eating my donut, though I had lost my appetite. I hoped they wouldn't call me out.

"We're heading out to look around. Did you want to tag along, or hang out here?" Sam asked.

I put down my donut on a nearby napkin, relieved and suddenly desperate to leave this hotel room.

"Sure."

I grabbed my new sweatshirt, sighing in relief when the soft fabric slid over my skin.

...

I felt a little odd strolling down the street with the brothers, listening to them bicker. Their banter was hardly new, but the companionship of the act was different. They didn't spend an inordinate amount of time trying to include me in the conversation, but I didn't feel alienated from them either.

This behavior strongly contrasted the Cullens who seemed to actively try to show that I was part of their family. They still argued amongst themselves like the brothers, but there was always this slightly staged tone to it. Their comments often revolved around my presence in some way, or were directed at Edward.

It was hardly surprising I supposed, considering that I was probably the most exciting thing to happen in decades. I didn't consider myself remarkable in the slightest, but the fact that one of them was dating a human was likely to pique their interest, especially since they kept to themselves most of the time.

A break in the monotony—that's what I was.

It was different with the brothers. To them, I was likely just another case—another person that needed saving. We might have been sharing close quarters, but they didn't feel the need to implement me in every facet of their lives.

Despite my disappointment when I thought I was being left behind this morning, I was actually grateful.

We barely knew each other and although it seemed as if I hadn't been in Forks in ages, we had only known each other for a few days. It would have been strange for the brothers and I to be any closer to each other than we were now.

We weren't best friends —we couldn't be after knowing each other so briefly—and their genuine behavior toward me was refreshing.

I was sick of people pretending. Jessica had latched onto me the moment I entered Forks, almost immediately treating me like her new best friend. The Cullens had acted as if I was one of their family. Jacob had broken his promise about abandoning me. Edward—well...he had _lied._

I shook those thoughts away, determined not to break down in public. I had already had a close call earlier—I really didn't need another. Realizing that I had begun to lag behind, I increased my pace, hoping that the brothers hadn't noticed.

"You _really_ need to pull that stick out of your ass."

" _Me?_ " Sam asked in disbelief. "You're the one who has been acting weird all morning."

Dean shot a glance over his shoulder at me and I could feel my brows furrow in worry. Had my actions last night bothered him so much? Sam was right—he had been acting different today. I had expected it was my behavior last night that caused it, but it was different to see my thoughts seemingly confirmed.

"Whatever," he replied gruffly, dismissing his observation. "You really need to get laid."

I could feel myself blush, no matter how hard I tried to suppress it. Thankfully, I wasn't walking beside them. Unless they turned around, they wouldn't notice my reaction.

My relief was quickly thrown out the window when Sam glanced back at me, thus making my cheeks grow even hotter. I heard Dean snicker and resolutely kept my gaze drawn on my feet. At least this way, I was less likely to trip.

I swept my thumb across the inside of my sleeve, glad that I had so far managed to avoid any mishaps with my clothing today. I doubted I would be able to find another sweater as soft as this if I accidentally ruined it too.

Sam sighed deeply. "Is that all you think about? No, wait. Look who I'm talking to. _Of course_ that's all you think about."

"Can't help it if the ladies love me," Dean boasted and I imagined he was probably waggling his eyebrows at Sam too.

Despite my embarrassment, I couldn't stop a snort from slipping out. Was he really that egotistical?

"What's so funny?" Dean demanded, looking at me over his shoulder.

"Nothing. Just... Is it hard for you to fit through doors with such a big head?"

I bit my lip as his eyes widened at my comment. To be fair, I hadn't _actually_ meant to say that. Sam was chuckling now and I was beginning to worry that speaking had been a mistake when Dean's lips suddenly lifted into what could only be described as a _salacious_ smirk.

"Sometimes," Dean acknowledged. "Though this," he tapped his temple, "isn't the _head_ I have to worry about," he completed and I was actually able to see his eyebrows waggling this time.

There was a beat of silence in which I stared at him in disbelief. The implication was that he was... _well-endowed_ certainly made me blush, but the mental image he had painted was more disturbing than anything.

"Dude. That's just creepy," Sam commented, staring at his brother oddly. "Do you think before you speak?"

I cleared my throat when another snort slipped out, trying to remain composed. It didn't help that Sam had begun laughing and after a moment, I couldn't stop myself from snickering right along with him. Dean's eyes narrowed at us briefly, but he simply rolled his eyes in response.

We continued walking at a leisurely pace, the brothers pausing a few times to look inside some stores. I stayed outside for the most part, glad for some fresh air. I felt like I had been cooped up inside for much too long.

I was sitting on a bench outside one of the stores now, waiting for the brothers to finish. There didn't seem to be much for us to do around here, apart from our current activities. I took in my surroundings, pausing when I noticed a nearby park.

The park itself wasn't anything remarkable, but I found my interest piqued by the forest behind it. The area kind of reminded me of Forks and I had this inexplicable urge to slip among the trees. I rose from my bench with the thought that I could take a quick peek while the brothers were still busy, when my view of the forest was abruptly blocked.

I blinked rapidly, glancing up to find the brothers standing before me, each with a bag in their hands.

"Got some supplies," Sam explained, though I didn't ask. "We'll probably be here a few more days."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, since we're not drawing attention to ourselves, we don't really need to worry about getting the hell out of Dodge," Dean replied, chewing on some beef jerky. "Want one?"

I declined.

"Besides," he continued, taking another bite. "We've got to make sure the redhead has time to catch up with us."

I blinked again, suddenly more interested in the conversation.

"Why would she have trouble following us?" I asked, perplexed.

"She wouldn't," Sam interjected. "But it might have taken her some time to figure out what happened to Laurent and realize you're gone."

"Oh," I repeated, this time nodding in understanding. "Okay, that makes sense."

A thought occurred to me.

"But if she's following us... Won't she realize you guys are hunters? What if she decides to back off until I'm..." I paused, hoping what I said next wouldn't reveal my thoughts on the idea, "...alone?"

"Well, that's always a possibility," Sam consented, "but we're banking on her need for revenge to override her common sense. That's also why we're going to start keeping a closer eye on you."

"What do you mean?"

"One of us is going to be with you at all times," Sam explained, while I stared at him in surprise. "I know we haven't really been doing that so far," he sounded genuinely apologetic when he admitted this, "but that's because we knew it would take a few days for her to notice your absence from Forks and track you down."

Although I wasn't adverse to the idea—I didn't really like being alone these days—I felt a little undeserving of their time. I knew I was probably being a little ridiculous, but when he explained it like that, I couldn't help feeling that way.

"Are you sure it won't be too much trouble?" I asked, fearing that my company was being foisted upon them.

Dean rolled his eyes at me. "Not more than we're used to," he replied, slinging an arm over my shoulder as he steered us back down the street.

I could feel my heart hammering at the warmth of him pressed along my side, confused by his sudden closeness.

"Don't worry, it's our job," Sam added with a smile, walking alongside us.

I wondered if tucking me into their side was also part of their job.

...

I leaned against the headboard, trying to remain indifferent to the fact that Dean was doing the same beside me. Of course, I should have realized he would likely take his spot on our bed when he decided to recline, but I honestly hadn't thought about it when I sat down.

The closeness wasn't exactly uncomfortable, but I was unusually aware of our positions and proximity. I couldn't stop fidgeting, but I was also too stubborn to move. Dean seemed to be wholly unaffected, his gaze trained on the small television across the room.

I supposed my uneasiness was due in part to the larger amount of space I usually kept between myself and others. Although the last several months this tendency had more to do with distancing myself from everyone's stares, that behavior wasn't new.

I knew how uncomfortable it was to have someone invade your personal space and I had no desire to make anyone feel that way. Most of the time, it kind of surprised me that some people could be so unaware of themselves or uncaring when they didn't show that level of respect.

I wasn't annoyed with Dean like I sometimes felt when other people sat a bit close, but I was surprised. It made me think about how he draped his arm over my shoulders earlier and how he playfully poked me yesterday.

People didn't really joke around with me. Sure, the Cullens were witty and I was definitely no stranger to sarcasm, but apart from a few incidences with Edward—I stubbornly refused to let the memories surface at the moment—no one was really _playful_.

I supposed Jacob often did kind of behave like that—at least, before he stopped taking my calls—but it was different. He was younger and kind of immature most of the time, so it was hardly unexpected.

Dean, however, was a monster-hunting adult. I had watched him kill a vampire and take down a ghost. Of course, he had made jokes during both altercations with the supernatural, so I probably shouldn't have been surprised.

I sighed, annoyed with myself. Why did I have to over-analyze everything? Why I couldn't I just sit beside someone like a normal person?

I clasped my hands together in my lap, determined to stop fidgeting and try to think about something else. I thought back to earlier today, remembering what I had read in the journal. I felt the familiar guilty twist in my stomach, but I tried to ignore that at the moment.

I had nearly forgotten about my discoveries, having become distracted by the brothers and memories of Edward. I still couldn't believe that there were Wendigoes out there, but I was more astonished by the entry I had found about the Crossroads Demon.

Not only did demons exist, but they could apparently grant wishes. I had a fleeting thought that the idea of a genie might actually have been based on some wish-granting demons. More importantly—assuming the information was true—wishes were paid for with _souls_.

I had never been particularly religious, so when Edward had claimed he couldn't change me because he didn't want to condemn my soul, I had considered the argument ridiculous. Of course, now I expected that this had merely been an excuse because he didn't want to spend an eternity with me.

Truthfully, that same thought had occurred to me before he left too. That's not really what mattered at the moment, though. What bothered me was the realization that if souls did in fact exist, then that meant that his might actually be in danger.

If ghosts were real and demons bargained for souls, did that mean that Heaven and Hell existed too? There must be some sort of afterlife—the presence of Mrs. Clancy's dead son had shown me that. However, I found it difficult to think that any of the Cullens could deserve damnation.

Did becoming a vampire truly mar a person's soul? Could a soul even be damaged like that? Was there really someone up there passing judgment?

"That's obvious."

"What?" I asked, looking over at Dean in surprise.

"She's been sleeping with the guy's brother. _Of course_ it's his kid," Dean explained.

I stared at him in confusion. Dean glanced back at me, nodding at the television. I followed his gaze, rolling my eyes at myself when I realized he was talking about the soap opera that was currently on.

"You don't strike me as the type of person to watch soap operas," I commented, grimacing at the cheesy show.

At least the content was too ridiculous to cause me any pain, despite being primarily a romance-centered program.

"Dean likes to think of himself as a badass, but as you can see...that's not really the case," Sam snickered.

"Hey! I'm still a badass. I'm just secure in my masculinity, unlike _some_ whiny bitches I know," Dean smirked. "Besides, there was nothing else on."

"Whatever you say," Sam replied, rolling his eyes.

I smiled at their exchange. The show might be boring, but at least their jibes were entertaining.

Dean suddenly groaned, swinging his legs off the side of the bed and grabbing the remote to shut off the television. I watched as he stretched, averting my gaze when his shirt rode up, exposing part of his back.

"Hungry?"

I glanced up, blushing when I found Dean's gaze leveled on me. It took me a moment to process what he had asked. My stomach clenched a bit at the mention of food, but I only shrugged in reply. Dean nodded, seemingly taking that as a confirmation.

"Come on, Point-Dexter. You can finish whatever you're doing later," Dean directed at Sam.

Sam sighed, but didn't protest, tapping a few keys and closing his laptop. I rose from the bed and followed the brothers as they exited the room, hoping we didn't get another Sandy for a waitress.

...

I take it back. Sandy was a much better waitress than this—I really couldn't think of a nice way to put it—ditz.

Not only had she brought me the wrong drink, but she had entirely forgotten to put my order in. I was now forced to wait even longer for them to actually prepare my dinner, while watching Sam and Dean eat.

Sam, ever the gentleman, had offered to wait for me, but I quickly waved off the idea. Although I appreciated the gesture, I didn't think he should have to suffer as well when it wasn't his fault my meal hadn't arrived on time.

No, the blame belonged to the woman currently preoccupied with throwing herself at Dean. In fact, our waitress had been flirting with Dean since the moment we walked in. It was why she had messed up my drink and forgotten my order.

I knew that was the reason because she hadn't exactly been subtle. Even while I spoke, her gaze slid over Dean, obviously not really listening. When I pointed out that she had brought me the wrong drink, her only response was an insincere apology as she rolled her eyes.

Although her interest was primarily in Dean, Sam was at least given the courtesy of her attention. It seemed that the only one she didn't care about was me.

What annoyed me the most was that through all of this, Dean hadn't once rejected her. He was flirting right along with her, his lips quirked into his customary smirk. I had the strongest urge to throw my cutlery at him when he winked at her as she sashayed back to the kitchens to finally put my order in.

I clenched my jaw, trying not to glare at my empty glass. Although she had brought me the Coke when I pointed out her mistake, she hadn't deigned to bring me a refill since. At this point, I was so angry that I didn't even want to ask.

I was drawn out of my thoughts when a glass of water slowly entered my field of vision. I blinked, looking up at the owner of the glass, noting the sympathetic smile on his face.

"You can have mine," Sam smiled.

"Are you sure?" I asked, not wanting to deprive him of his drink just because I had finished mine.

"I've still got half a beer," he smiled, gesturing to the bottle in his hand. "Besides, I'd probably have better luck getting a refill anyway," he joked, still retaining that sympathetic smile.

I tried to smile back, glad that at least I wasn't the only one to notice the neglectful treatment the waitress was giving me. I glanced at Dean, unsurprised to find his gaze trained across the restaurant while he practically inhaled his burger.

"What's that look for?"

Dean must have felt my gaze. I hadn't noticed him return it, nor had I realized I was glaring at him until he spoke. I blinked. If I wasn't already so frustrated over the waitress and her behavior, I probably would have been embarrassed over being caught.

"What?"

"You were glaring at me."

"No, I wasn't," I denied, glancing toward the kitchen.

Was I ever going to get my food? At this point, I was ready to start eating sugar packets.

"What's your problem?"

My gaze darted back over to Dean and I could feel my eyes widen incredulously.

"Are you kidding?" I wondered aloud.

Dean opened his mouth, but was promptly cut off as the waitress loudly dropped my plate in front of me. I was so hungry and annoyed at this point that I didn't even care anymore. I focused in on my burger, trying to ignore the pair as they continued to flirt.

I was surprised when the waitress—Jenny—retreated a few moments later. She had been hovering over our table all night, chatting with Dean. Honestly, it was amazing that no one had noticed and reprimanded her. I glanced up and felt my brows furrow when I saw Dean frowning down at this plate as he ate the last of his fries.

I looked over at Sam who only offered a shrug in response.

...

By the time we made it back to the motel room, I was feeling drained. While the majority of the day had been relatively pleasant—at least, no runaway dogs had managed to knock me down—dinner was unbelievably frustrating.

The brothers had been remarkably quiet since we left, though I tried not to dwell on the reasons for that. I wasn't feeling up to conversation myself, anyway.

I went through the process of getting ready for bed, this time settling in under the covers before Dean. I pulled myself to the edge much like I had last night, wrapping an arm around the side of the mattress to keep myself anchored there as I clenched my eyes shut.

...

I gasped, my eyes shooting open as I finally managed to escape my latest nightmare. I rubbed my eyes with the heel of my palms, trying to rub away the tears. I had been in the forest again, seeking out something that deep down I knew I wouldn't find. I wasn't even sure what I was looking for anymore and that frightened me more than anything.

Of course, that part of the nightmare was only the beginning. Eventually Mr. Denasy and Joseph Clancy Jr. decided to make their cameos, unwilling to leave me alone for even one night.

Why did my subconscious have to keep tormenting me like this? Weren't the _real_ horrors of my life enough?

A few minutes went by where I simply stared into the darkness, wondering how long I would have to endure this and whether I would ever go a night with uninterrupted sleep again.

I stiffened when, like last night, I suddenly felt a hand running through my hair. I was too tired to think about the owner of that hand or how I had once again woke him in the middle of the night with one of my nightmares.

I slowly relaxed into his touch, keeping my mind resolutely blank until I finally fell back asleep.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I told you—I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up."  
> -Edward Cullen; Twilight pg. 88


	4. Part IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You're old enough to face vampires and ghosts. I think you're old enough for a drink, don't you?"

I opened my eyes when I felt the mattress dip and glanced sleepily beside me to see Dean climbing out of bed. He sat on the edge for a minute, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck. I felt a little guilty, wondering if keeping to one side of the bed was uncomfortable for him.

I was used to moving quite a bit at night too. It was actually surprising that I hadn't accidentally invaded his space yet. I couldn't imagine how awkward that would be if I did.

I closed my eyes reflexively when he stood, not wanting him to know I was awake. I wondered why I felt the need to pretend as I listened to him move into the bathroom. I waited till the door shut and the water started running before I finally opened my eyes.

I glanced around the room, curiously noting that Sam was already absent. Where would he have headed off to so early? How long would he be gone? Did this mean that Dean was going to be babysitting me today?

I shook those thoughts away, particularly that last one. I knew that was essentially what they were doing—babysitting me—but I didn't want to think about it like that. It made me feel young and weak to need someone to watch over me.

I might not have lived for over a hundred years or hunted monsters my whole life, but I wasn't a child.

I sat up, pulling off the covers and slipping out of bed. Like yesterday, I paused to straighten the bedding before moving over to sift through my clothes. I was running low on clean things to wear and I knew I would need to find somewhere to wash my clothes eventually. I wondered if there was a Laundromat or something nearby.

I found another shirt and grabbed a pair of jeans. I glanced at the bathroom door, wondering if I would have enough time to change before Dean finished. He had only been in there for a few minutes, so I figured I could probably make it.

Sam, however, was another story. I had no idea how long he had been gone, nor when he would be back. I walked over to the door, glancing at the bathroom in uncertainty, before sliding the chain in place. This way if Sam did return, he wouldn't be able to walk in on me.

I moved back over to my clothes, quickly slipping my pajama pants off and putting on my jeans. I removed my shirt next, but froze when I heard the bathroom door suddenly swing open. I stood there, halfway reaching for the shirt I planned to wear today, too shocked to move.

Dean cleared his throat. "Oh...uh...sorry."

I listened to him retreat back into the bathroom, finally able to move when the door slid shut again. I quickly whipped my shirt on, blushing madly. I _knew_ I should have waited for him to finish in the bathroom. My only consolation was that I had at least had my back turned.

He hadn't really seen anything, but I couldn't quell my embarrassment no matter how hard I tried.

...

I sat in the middle of the bed, picking at a loose thread. The atmosphere in the room had been a little awkward since Dean emerged from the bathroom, though he hadn't said anything. In fact, I think his silence was the prime contributor to that feeling. There was also the fact that unlike yesterday, Dean had opted to recline on Sam's bed instead. I couldn't help feeling like I was the cause.

I sighed to myself, bored and a little disappointed that I had _this_ to look forward to for the next couple of hours. We had already eaten, so I couldn't use that as a way to kill time. I was really beginning to miss Sam. If he was here, then I would at least have the brothers' banter to listen to. Not to mention that Sam probably wouldn't feel the need to avoid me because _he_ hadn't been a part of that awkward moment earlier.

"You haven't met a Hunter before, have you?"

I glanced over at Dean, surprised that he had finally broken the silence, though I was a little confused by his question. Hadn't my shock been obvious when I first met them?

"No."

"But you said that someone killed the vampire that attacked you—Lestat's friend?"

"I—yes," I replied honestly, though I was beginning to worry about the direction his questions were taking.

"How the hell did he manage that?"

The feminine pride in me wanted to ask why he just assumed that my savior had been a male, but I was much too bothered by the conversation itself to do so. Why was he asking me this now?

"Because unless you've got a store of vampire venom, it's damn near impossible to take one of those fuckers down," Dean continued, his eyes suddenly narrowed in suspicion.

I could feel my heart race as I panicked. He was demanding all of these answers and while I wanted to just refuse to reply like I had before, I knew that wouldn't work now. Even I could see the determined set of his jaw.

I didn't know what he would do if I refused again. Would he convince Sam to take me home, leaving me behind to fend for myself? I didn't think he would, but then again, I hadn't really known him long enough to be certain. Although I had only been with them for four days and I knew I would have to return home eventually, I couldn't bear the thought of them abandoning me right now.

I couldn't betray the Cullens' trust, though. It didn't matter that they didn't want me anymore—I would _never_ tell anyone their secret. Still, how could I tell Dean the truth, without revealing too much?

"He lured me to this abandoned ballet studio—James," I said, the story unraveling as I spoke. "I knew it was a trap, but I thought he had my mom," I explained.

I took a deep breath, keeping my gaze averted.

"They—they followed me," I said quietly.

"Who followed you?"

"They knew something was wrong," I continued, steeling myself to answer his question in the only way I knew how. "My b-boyfriend," I winced at the word, "and his family."

I took another deep breath.

"I don't remember much. I was in too much pain near the end. James had broken a few of my bones before they got there," I explained honestly. "They set fire to the building and I guess he burned before he could escape."

"But you did," Dean commented.

"Yeah. E-Edward saved me."

I winced as his name slipped out, instantly regretful for mentioning it. Not only was it still hurtful to say, but I needed to remember that this was a _Hunter_ I was talking to. If I wasn't careful, I could put Edward and his family in danger.

"So how come he wasn't there to do the same with Lestat?" Dean wondered.

"He...he left."

I clenched my eyes shut, swallowing the lump in my throat. I shouldn't have said anything. Now Dean would probably treat me like everyone else had, like the heartbroken shell of a girl I had become.

"Here."

I looked up at the feel of something cold against my hands, shocked to find Dean standing before me, extending a bottle of beer.

"I'm underage," I said, glancing up at him with furrowed brows.

Dean shrugged, placing the bottle on the table beside me. He picked up his own and took a seat on Sam's bed, facing me.

"You're old enough to face vampires and ghosts. I think you're old enough for a drink, don't you?"

I bit my lip, still uncertain. Despite the general assumption that authority figures raised rule-breaking children, I had never really been interested in alcohol. Charlie would have killed me if I had been caught, but Renee had given me a few sips of wine on occasion.

On the other hand, I also knew that Edward would probably disapprove and much like riding motorcycles had, this thought pleased me.

Besides, Dean was right. Why shouldn't I have a drink? I had spent the last year surviving so many things—vampires, car accidents, rapists, heartbreak, homicidal ghosts—and who knew what would happen when Victoria finally made her move?

She could snap my neck on the way to the bathroom and I would die never having participated in something so normal and reckless as drinking. I was always so aware of myself and what I said, but right now all I really wanted to do was _let go_.

I knew I would probably regret it later, but I picked up that beer bottle, determined to act my age and stop thinking about the consequences. I clinked my bottle with Dean's as he raised it in cheers, returning his smirk with a genuine smile for once.

...

"Better?" Dean asked as I took a sip of my third beer.

I shrugged in reply. While I didn't really think I liked the taste of beer, it had become more tolerable after the first. I supposed that the pleasantly calm feeling now running through limbs also made drinking it easier.

"I feel...calm."

"Yeah, it'll do that."

My brows furrowed. "I'm not usually this calm," I pointed out, though I didn't know why I felt the need to do so.

"I've noticed," Dean laughed.

I frowned for a moment, wondering if I should be insulted by that. I decided that I wasn't.

"Do you ever wish you were normal?" I asked suddenly.

Dean looked thrown by my question. He also looked like he didn't wanted to answer.

"Sometimes," he admitted reluctantly.

"Don't. I'm normal. Being normal is boring."

He laughed at that.

"I wouldn't call you normal."

"No..." I consented, realizing that _normal_ had been a poor choice of words. I was too strange to be considered as such. "I'm not. But I'm boring."

I sighed, taking another drink of my beer. It wasn't long before I finished and began nursing on my fourth. I had lost track of how many Dean had consumed long ago. My thoughts drifted back to yesterday and suddenly I was giggling.

"What?" Dean asked.

"You—You said—" I broke off with another giggle, "—and the door...big head..."

I tapped my temple, trying to imitate the gesture and the smirk he had been wearing when he did it. I still couldn't believe he had said that. Remembering the look on his face just made me laugh harder. I leaned forward, resting my forehead against my knees as I tried to calm down.

When I finally managed to collect myself enough to stop giggling, I sat back up. I pressed my lips together, worried I might have a relapse when I looked at Dean's face. The image was still rather fresh in my mind, after all.

"You look happy," Dean commented.

"I feel...happy," I admitted, my brows furrowing when I realized this. "That's weird."

"Why's it weird?"

"I'm not happy," I replied, shaking my head. "I'll never be happy. Not again."

Dean was giving me a strange look now.

"That's kind of sad, isn't it?" I thought aloud.

Dean wasn't talking. Why wasn't he talking? I watched him, staring at his face as I took a large gulp of my beer.

"Are you happy?" I asked.

He just stared at me for a moment. I didn't think he was going to answer.

"I don't know," he replied, much to my surprise.

I felt my brows furrow as I leaned forward, pointing a finger at him.

"You should be happy," I said in as serious a tone as I could muster.

"And you should smile more," Dean countered.

I could feel my lips curling into a grin even as I replied.

"I think I've forgotten how."

...

When I awoke it was with a bad taste in my mouth and a deep feeling of warmth wrapped around me. I opened my eyes and froze, realizing that the warmth was coming from Dean, who had his arms wrapped around me.

Embarrassingly enough, my arms were wrapped around him too and I was close enough to feel his breath on my face. I stared at him with wide eyes, wondering how we had ended up like this.

I thought back to before I had fallen asleep, distinctly remembering eventually climbing into bed, though I couldn't quite recall when Dean must have joined me. I should have known my lack of mishaps like this couldn't last.

 _At least he's still asleep_ , I thought.

I extracted my limbs from around him, breathing a sigh of relief when he didn't stir. I looked down at the arm draped over my waist, slowly trying to remove it. I panicked when I heard the door being unlocked and glanced up at Dean, tensing when I realized his eyes were open.

His expression remained blank, although I'm sure mine was quite shocked. I couldn't imagine what he was thinking, waking to find us tangled together with my hand on his arm.

I winced when the chain jerked loudly as Sam tried to open the door. During my embarrassment over being caught half-dressed, I had forgotten all about adding that extra bit of security to the door. Dean quirked an eyebrow at me, but otherwise didn't comment as he slowly untangled himself and walked over to the door to remove the chain.

I sat up quickly, trying to smooth out my hair and clothes.

"What was that for?" Sam asked, when he entered.

I was relieved when Dean only shrugged. That incident, as well as this more recent one, had both been embarrassing enough with just us. I tried to smile when Sam glanced at me, but I don't think I was very successful. Thankfully, he chose not to comment.

As much as I still missed the Cullens, it was nice to be around people who didn't feel the need to know everything. Between a seer, an empath, and a mind reader, it was awfully difficult to keep anything from them.

Still, I knew that the brothers didn't need supernatural gifts to be able to notice the bright blush on my cheeks.

"I brought dinner," Sam announced and that was when I noticed the take-out bags in his hands.

Unfortunately, that was also when Sam noticed all of the empty beer bottles.

"You gave her alcohol?" Sam demanded, glaring at his brother in disbelief.

"We were bored," Dean shrugged.

"So watch T.V. or something! I can't believe you—"

"I'm an adult," I pointed out quietly, though I don't think either of them heard me.

"What? You might like living with a stick up your ass all the time, but that doesn't mean the rest of us can't have fun," Dean grumbled.

"You've done some pretty shitty things, but giving beer to a kid—"

"I am _not_ a child," I interrupted, my jaw clenched. "I've almost died more times than I can count and I've got _another_ vampire hunting me. I'm old enough to handle a couple drinks."

I grabbed my red sweatshirt, quickly jerking it over my head. I stomped over to the door and pulled it open, pausing for a moment.

"I'm going for a walk," I said, closing the door behind me before I heard a reply.

...

I paced around the motel, angry but also aware that it wasn't safe for me to walk too far away from the room. I knew Sam hadn't deserved my outburst, but I was just _so sick_ of being treated like a child.

Everyone thought they knew what was best for me. Charlie thought I should move back in with Renee. People at school thought I should get on with my life and stop being heartbroken.

No, _everyone_ thought I should get on with my life.

Admittedly, the worst culprit of all had been Edward—always so determined to keep me safe. He hadn't let me do _anything_ that was remotely dangerous. He had also decided when we were over and when it was time for me to stop loving him.

Well, I _hadn't_. I was heartbroken, _damn it_ , and I would grieve over Edward for as long as I wanted.

I was in charge of my physical and emotional wellbeing. If I wanted to ride motorcycles, drink alcohol, and love the people who had abandoned me, then I would. No one could tell me what to do or what not to do and they certainly couldn't tell me how to feel.

I took a deep breath and my steps gradually slowed. I felt oddly relieved to get all of that off my chest, even if it had only been in my own thoughts. I spent a few more minutes just breathing in the fresh air, before deciding to return to the room. I glanced back at some nearby trees, oddly wistful as I walked away.

...

I knocked on the door, stuffing my hands into my sweatshirt as I waited. I hadn't realized how cold it was when I stormed out and although my torso was kept warm by my newest article of clothing, the rest of my body wasn't quite as sufficiently protected from the elements.

I smiled nervously when the door opened, not really surprised when I saw Sam. He stepped back to let me walk passed and I waited for him to finish shutting and locking the door before I spoke.

"I'm sorry for going off on you before. It's just..." I furrowed my brows, trying to think of how to explain my behavior without giving too much away. "People have a tendency to try to run my life," I explained, astonished despite myself for how true that statement really felt, "and I guess it's kind of a sore spot for me."

Sam rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"It's my fault... I shouldn't have gotten mad about it. I mean, it's not like Dean and I didn't do our share of underage drinking."

"Remember that time we swiped a bottle of Bobby's scotch?" Dean interjected with a nostalgic smile.

"Yeah, you got sick and puked on one of Bobby's first editions," Sam pointed out, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

"Good times," Dean sighed happily.

...

Things were kind of tense for a while, despite Sam and I having come to an understanding. I still felt a little guilty for taking out my frustration on him, but I didn't regret it. Considering the relief I felt afterward, I knew now that it had really needed to be said.

Sam, for his part, didn't seem to hold any antagonism toward me. Despite his emphatic reaction earlier, he was actually pretty easygoing most of the time. I remembered how he had given me his water last night when the waitress was neglecting me and felt my smile become a little more genuine.

Of course, tonight's dinner was infinitely better than that train wreck of a meal. Secluded in our motel room, I didn't have to rely on the Jenny's of the world to stop flirting long enough to remember that I existed.

No, as I sat in our motel room eating and watching the brothers bicker between—and in Dean's case, _during_ —bites, I realized that I was feeling more content than I had in a long time.

...

In retrospect, I probably should have thought this out a bit more.

Sam, Dean, and I were currently getting ready for bed as we had finished dinner hours ago and the television had long since forgone playing anything remotely entertaining. Normally, this might not have been a problem, except that I couldn't stop thinking about the last time Dean and I had shared a bed and what that had entailed.

I couldn't stop blushing no matter how hard I tried, easily able to recall how close we had been and the weight of his arm wrapped around me. My cheeks grew even hotter when I remembered how one of his legs had been thrown over mine—a fact that I had overlooked at the time.

Dean and I hadn't gotten a chance to discuss what had happened, as we were quite obviously preoccupied with Sam's return and the subsequent argument. Truthfully, I didn't really want to broach that subject, but I couldn't help feeling like I should apologize for my subconsciously affectionate limbs.

Although he hadn't seemed bothered at the time—during that brief uninterrupted moment before he got up to open the door for Sam—I was worried that I might have made him uncomfortable.

"Bella."

My gaze snapped up from where it had been trained on the carpet and I froze when it fell on Dean, who was staring right at me. He was already under the covers—unquestionably situated on _his_ side of the bed—and nodded at mine expectantly.

I glanced at the bathroom door, noting that Sam was still behind it and brushing his teeth, from the sound of it. I looked back at Dean and deciding that this was the time to act like the adult I claimed to be, I took a deep, determined breath.

"Um...about earlier..." I trailed off, staring upwards as I tried to put my thoughts into words. "I'm...sorry."

I met Dean's gaze nervously. His eyebrows had raised, but his face was otherwise blank.

"Why are you sorry?" he asked finally.

"For making you uncomfortable," I explained quickly, unable to stop as the rest spilled from my mouth, "I'm used to sleeping with these big pillows...and I'm kind of surprised this hasn't happened before...because I can't really help it..."

I knew I was babbling and I could feel my blush only getting worse, but I pressed on.

"Anyway, I'm sorry for making you uncomfortable," I repeated.

I exhaled loudly, relieved to have gotten that conversation over with. Nodding to myself, I finally finished stowing my stuff away—which I had only been sifting through to put off facing Dean—and quickly slipped into my side of the bed.

...


	5. Part V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Well, it's got to be something that goes bump in the night, right? A human couldn't do that kind of damage."

Sam and I looked up when the door flew open, obviously surprised to see Dean back so soon. He had only been gone an hour and it was my understanding that he wouldn't return until nightfall. I expected that he must have been sick of being cooped up in this motel room after remaining here yesterday.

Truthfully, I was beginning to feel a little antsy myself. I had been debating whether to slip on my new sweatshirt and see if Sam wanted to go for a walk for the last ten minutes, actually.

"All hands on deck," Dean announced.

I looked over to Sam, wondering if he would be able to shed some light on whatever Dean was talking about. Judging by the blank look on his face, he was just as confused as I was.

Dean rolled his eyes. "A girl was found mauled to death in a house with locked doors," Dean explained.

"That's...odd," I replied, uncertain how to take something like that.

"And right up our alley."

"We'd better look into it," Sam agreed, standing.

I watched the brothers get ready, wondering if the supernatural followed them much like it seemed to follow me, or if things like this just happened all the time. As much as I disliked being labeled a _danger magnet_ , the latter was far more disconcerting.

...

"I'm Agent Hamill and this is Agent Ford," Sam introduced, flashing a badge at the man.

"And this is our intern, Miss Fisher," Dean added , barely suppressing a smirk.

"We're from the U.S. Wildlife Service."

I nearly rolled my eyes at being introduced as their intern again, but managed to restrain myself. At least this time I wasn't embarrassingly underdressed. I supposed that being a member of the Wildlife Service negated the need for professional attire. Still, I made a mental note to buy something more formal to wear in the future.

"About time you guys showed up," the mortician remarked, before turning to, presumably, lead us to the body.

I followed a step behind Sam and Dean, curious to see how they would handle this case. In Spokane, I had been too nervous to appreciate their methods. Although I wasn't exactly comfortable now—I didn't want to think about what would happen if we got caught—I didn't feel as anxious.

I wasn't sure if that was because I trusted the brothers a bit more now or if I was just getting used to the whole idea, but I counted myself lucky. At least they hadn't tried to leave me in the motel room like they had in Spokane. I guessed they must have really meant it when they said that one of them would be with me at all times.

Watching the brothers stride purposefully behind the mortician as if they had every right to be here, I began to feel envious.

I wished I had that kind of confidence. I could still remember the look of disappointment on Dean's face when I failed to show it outside that bar in Spokane. I looked down at my clothes, feeling the soft material of my sweatshirt.

I had the sudden urge to leave—to slip away while their backs were turned. I could backtrack and walk out the main entrance without anyone saying a word.

Dean glanced back then, meeting my eyes and offering a wink.

I blushed, but smiled back, shaking away my thoughts of escape. I could do this. I could pretend to be their intern, Miss Fisher, much like I had in Spokane as Miss Sullivan.

"I've got to warn you guys...it isn't pretty," the mortician cautioned, his gaze resting on me. "Miss Fisher, you might want to wait outside."

I stared at the man, slightly incredulous. Although I knew I hadn't seen nearly as much carnage as the brothers had, I was insulted that he had singled me out. I knew that the girl's corpse probably wouldn't be pretty, but I wanted to prove that I could handle this.

I wanted to be able to adopt aliases as quickly and as confidently as the brothers. I was tired of being coddled by everyone, especially after everything that I had been through. I had dealt with vampires, ghosts, and the terrible corpse of a child, but I was still _here_.

I hadn't snapped or run away, so why was I constantly being treated like I was weak?

I could feel the anger boiling up much like it had when Sam had referred to me as a child. Again, I was surprised by the intensity of it, but I knew I couldn't stop it from bursting forth like before. I opened my mouth to tell the man off, when Dean spoke first.

"Miss Fisher will be fine," Dean replied. I might have been imagining the hard tone of his voice. "Show us the body."

The mortician didn't look convinced, but shrugged and stepped forward to pull open one of the morgue drawers. I tried not to look shocked by Dean's words, lest he change his mind and decide to follow the mortician's advice. I felt Sam's gaze and when I turned toward him, he offered me an understanding smile.

I nodded back, though I was a little embarrassed that he had noticed my near-outburst.

I watched the mortician pull the drawer out, realizing that I was about to see a corpse and unlike Derek Denasy, there would be quite a bit more than just bones. I held my breath as the mortician slid the sheet down.

There wasn't much blood—a fact that I was extremely thankful for right now. The body must have been cleaned so that the victim's wounds became easier to identify. I was suddenly grateful that we hadn't eaten yet.

The girl's torso was barely recognizable, marred with deep gashes. One claw mark started on her left cheek and stretched down to her chin. It was strange not to see blood spilling out of a wound so deep and fresh.

There were several more scratches on the girl's face and her blonde curls were still a bit matted with dried blood. I quickly shifted my gaze from her face, trying to distract myself from the sight of blood.

"Have you managed to I.D. the victim, yet?" Sam asked, seemingly unaffected by the gruesome sight.

There was a subtle shift in his eyes that somehow made me doubt that, though.

"Her name was Sally Johnson."

"Know anything else about her?" Dean asked. "What about family?"

"She was nineteen and she was homeless. I don't know if she had any family, but no one's come to claim her or anything."

"How did you know her name?" Sam asked.

The mortician rubbed the back of his neck, nervously. "I've patched her up a few times."

I couldn't stop staring at Sally. She was only a year older than me, but she looked so much younger—and smaller. Her death had been painful and she must have been so scared. The sight of this girl dead on a slab, seemingly forgotten, was terrible.

"So now that you've had a chance to look at the body, what do you think?" the mortician asked.

I was bothered by the note of excitement in his voice.

"Definitely not the work of the household dog," Dean remarked, surveying the wounds.

I glanced at the body again, noting the deep and long gashes. Whatever did this must have been big and strong, not to mention vicious.

"This looks like a bear attack," Sam observed.

"Exactly! But she was found inside the Karins' house with no sign of a forced entry. Definitely no sign of a bear. Nuts, huh?"

"Yeah, nuts," Sam agreed quietly.

...

"So...what was it really?" I asked once we were in the car and safe from anyone who might've been eavesdropping.

"I don't know..." Sam admitted. "The marks look like they did come from a bear, but..."

"But what would a bear be doing in someone's house?" Dean finished, raising an eyebrow. "Stealing pic-a-nic baskets?"

"Are there any monsters out there that are capable of making wounds like that?" I asked, thinking about that _Wendigo_ creature I had read about in the journal. "And breaking in without...breaking in?" I finished lamely.

"Something that's capable of both? I don't know..." Sam replied.

"We need to take a look at where she was found and talk to the family that lives there," Dean remarked.

...

"It was terrible," Mrs. Karins said, her gaze unintentionally slipping toward the kitchen, before she pulled it back.

"Maybe you should start from the beginning," Sam advised with a sympathetic look. I wondered if his concern was just part of his character, or if it came naturally. I thought it was probably a little of both.

"And try not to leave anything out," Dean added.

"Well, we decided to go out for a family dinner," Mrs. Karins began. "Poor Timothy—that's our son—has been feeling a little neglected, I think," she mused.

I glanced at the collection of family photos hanging on the walls, noting the little boy who was present in nearly all of them.

"Anyway, when we got home, we found our furniture in shambles. We thought someone was robbing us, but nothing was missing. And then..."

"And then...?"

"We—We found her. In the kitchen. The poor thing..."

"Poor thing?" I repeated, surprised.

Sally's death was terrible, but I couldn't believe that Mrs. Karins would be so forgiving. The girl had broken in and presumably trashed her home.

"She was obviously hungry. There were empty soup cans all over the counter," Mrs. Karins explained, sadly. "I would have gladly given her them if she had asked."

She seemed genuine. I was beginning to feel guilty for expecting the worst of this woman. I thought my interactions with the mothers in Spokane might have been coloring my view of her. I needed to remember that just because _they_ had been a part of the plot, didn't mean that victims like Mrs. Karins were too.

"There was so much blood..." Mrs. Karins spoke quietly. "I can't imagine what attacked her. I don't want to think about what could've happened if—if we had come home sooner."

She looked like she felt guilty for that last comment, but I couldn't hold it against her. Being home when that thing—whatever it was—attacked, probably wouldn't have made a difference, except in the body count.

...

The brothers and I searched high and low, but we couldn't find any evidence that someone had forced their way in, much less that a gigantic animal had torn its way inside. All of the doors and windows were intact. In fact, the only sign of a violent entry laid in the broken furniture in the living room and, oddly enough, in the son's bedroom.

"This doesn't make sense," I murmured, staring at the broken chair in the boy's room. "Why would she come up here if she was looking for food?"

"Hell, why would she tear up the place?" Dean added.

"Maybe she was looking for something else?" Sam wondered.

"In the kid's room?" Dean asked, disbelievingly.

Sam shrugged, obviously not putting much faith in that theory.

"She was a homeless girl looking for food, right?" I thought aloud. "And she was found in the kitchen, making soup. Unless she paused in her search to eat...?"

"I think that whatever killed her did this," Sam replied, gesturing at the broken chair. "Although, I can't think of a reason."

Dean pulled his hand down his face roughly, obviously frustrated at the lack of answers.

"Well, it's got to be something that goes bump in the night, right?" Dean confirmed. "A human couldn't do that kind of damage."

...

I sat in a booth with Sam and Dean, listening to them discuss this latest case while we waited for our food. I stayed mostly silent, unable to contribute much. I was beginning to regret not learning more about the occult when I had been researching vampires. I made a mental note to do so the next time I was stuck in the motel room without anything to do.

"How do you guys come up with your aliases?" I asked, particularly curious about my own. "Why Miss Fisher?"

Dean's frown—which he had been sporting since we left the Karins' house—slowly turned into a smirk.

"Come on..." he urged, leaning forward. "Ford and Hamill? You've got to see the connection."

I bit my lip in thought, but after a few moments, I was still coming up blank. When I could only shrug in reply, Dean's smirk fell into a grimace of disappointment.

"It's from Star Wars," Sam explained helpfully. "Mark Hamill played Luke Skywalker and Harrison Ford played Han Solo."

"I was never really into Star Wars," I admitted, sheepishly.

Although I wasn't particularly interested in the series, I knew how devoted the fans could be. Judging by the look on Dean's face, he was one of them.

"Who _isn't_ into _Star Wars_?" Dean asked in disbelief.

I shrugged again. "I don't know... Renee—my mom—was never really into the sci-fi stuff."

"What about your friends?"

"I...um...didn't really have any," I admitted.

It was true—I hadn't had many friends in Phoenix. Sure, I had talked to people in school, but we hadn't hung out or anything outside of class. I had managed to fade into the background most of the time. Besides, Renee was often more excitement than I could handle. I preferred reading quietly in my room, anyway.

"So... Miss Fisher? What character did she play?" I asked, hoping the brothers wouldn't think about what I had revealed too much.

"Princess Leia... You _at least_ know who she is, right?" Dean asked.

"Um..." I furrowed my brows, trying to draw up everything I knew about the series. "Didn't she kiss her brother or something?" I asked, wrinkling my nose at the thought.

"Yeah..." Sam grimaced. "To be fair, she didn't know he was her brother at the time."

"I guess... That's still kind of disturbing, though," I pointed out.

"Eh," Dean waved away my comment. "Creepy or not, she still looked killer in that slave outfit," he said, waggling his eyebrows.

"Of course you'd say that," Sam sighed.

I rolled my eyes, but I might have been smiling a bit too.

"So, Miss Bookworm... If you don't like Star Wars and you don't like music, then what _do_ you like?" Dean asked.

I thought for a moment. "Well, I used to read a lot of Austen and Bronte."

"Of course," Dean grumbled, while Sam asked, "What was your favorite?"

"Wuthering Heights," I answered. "Though, I really don't read much these days..."

"Gave that up when you stopped listening to music too?" Dean teased.

"Yep," I replied curtly.

I really didn't want to talk about this anymore. I didn't want to draw attention to all of the things I had stopped doing once Edward left, lest they decide to ask me for a reason. I was grateful when the waiter emerged with our food, satisfied that the conversation was over now that everyone's mouths were full.

...

"I just don't get it," Dean groaned, tossing the journal down on Sam's bed. "All signs point to Yogi going rabid, but there's no way a bear got in and out of there. And there's nothing in here," Dean added, gesturing at the journal.

" _When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth_ ," I recited.

"What?"

"Sherlock Holmes," Sam identified with a grin. "You like Doyle?" he asked, his smile turning hopeful.

"Who _isn't_ into Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes?" I asked, smirking as I paraphrased what Dean had said about _Star Wars_ earlier.

Dean definitely noticed.

"Nerds," he muttered, shooting a glare my way.

"What was your favorite story?" I asked Sam, ignoring Dean.

"It's hard to pick just one..." Sam admitted. "I really liked the Baskerville stories... What about you?"

"It really is hard to choose," I agreed. "But I was always fascinated by _A Scandal in Bohemia_."

"Because of the Woman?" Sam asked.

I nodded, though I was beginning to rethink my answer. I wasn't lying when I said that story had always stuck with me. The subtle potential for romance with someone so cold and calculated had definitely been intriguing, but now that I had experienced heartbreak for myself, I was beginning to think that Sherlock Holmes might have had the right idea.

People couldn't hurt you if you didn't let them in.

"Are you two done geeking out?" Dean sighed in exasperation.

"Geeking out?" Sam repeated in disbelief. "You were the one talking about Star Wars earlier."

"Star Wars is a classic," Dean argued.

"Doesn't it make it any less geeky," Sam pointed out.

" _You_ like Star Wars!"

"Yeah, but according to you, I'm also a nerd, so..."

"Oh, shut up."

I watched them argue, trying not to laugh.

"I wonder which one of you would be Holmes and which one would be Watson..." I thought aloud.

"That's easy. _He's_ Watson," Dean proclaimed, jerking a thumb toward his brother.

" _Me_?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"Yeah, you. You're definitely the sidekick."

"I am _not_ your sidekick."

"I wouldn't call Watson a sidekick anyway," I pointed out, feeling the need to defend one of my favorite fictional characters. "He's more of a partner."

"Sick," Dean grimaced. "You know we're brothers, right?"

" _Dean_ , you idiot! She wasn't calling them romantic partners," Sam sighed, exasperated. "They worked together. They were just good friends."

"Whatever you say..." Dean almost-sang, raising his eyebrows.

I shook my head in amazement at the direction this conversation had taken.

...

I quietly closed the door behind me, trying not to further disturb Sam or Dean. They were both still doing research for the case, and I'll admit that I was impressed by their level of focus. Although their methods might come across as half-hazard at first, it was obvious that they put quite a bit of work into their job.

My range of knowledge was still disappointingly lacking and since Sam currently needed his laptop for research, I couldn't really help out. Although I had found small ways to be useful, I was feeling distinctly left out.

Neither brother had protested when I mentioned my need for some fresh air, though they did insist that I remain close. It was dangerous to be out in the dark alone, but the brothers still expected that Victoria would take her time in cornering me.

Although I was grateful that they had granted me this brief respite from their constant vigilance, I hoped that they were right about Victoria. She was probably fast enough to grab me and run long before the brothers realized I was gone.

If I hadn't been so desperate to escape that motel room, I wouldn't have chosen to tempt fate by making myself an easier target.

I took a deep breath, relishing the fresh air. I felt like I could stay out here forever. In fact, the urge to take a walk was rather strong, though I knew how dangerous that would be. I shook my head and took another breath, before returning inside.

...

I took my time getting ready for bed, strangely exhausted. Perhaps I was feeling drained by the lack of answers—I didn't know. It was obvious that Dean was beginning to get antsy by the lack of a breakthrough, though.

I slipped into bed beside him, watching him rub his face roughly in the corner of my eye. I wanted to say something reassuring, but the words wouldn't come. I didn't think anything would comfort him short of the murderer's head on platter.

It was strange to watch the brothers hunt again. Although I had initially been glad for the reprieve after Spokane, I had to admit that I felt relieved to have a problem to focus on. Thinking about Sally's death, as sad as it had been, served as a nice distraction from my own feelings.

I didn't really have time to worry about Edward or Victoria—not with a bear on the loose.

...

"Bella?"

I opened my eyes slowly, peering blearily up at the face beside me. I quickly sat up, surprised to see both brothers beginning to get dressed. A glance at the window showed that it was still very dark outside.

"What's going on?" I mumbled sleepily.

"There's been another death," Dean explained quietly.

I sat up quickly, suddenly not quite as grateful for this distraction.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean used Hamill and Ford as their aliases in "Dead in the Water" (Season 1, episode 3)


	6. Part VI

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You call it being immature. I call it being fun."

I trailed behind the brothers as we entered the crime scene, trying not to appear too nervous. The place was swarming with officers and I was beginning to feel paranoid that someone might recognize me. I didn't know the extent Charlie might have gone to locate me. I hoped that he was still focusing on Los Angeles, where the Cullens were thought to have moved.

I watched the brothers flash their badges at an officer, but otherwise tried to remain in the background. I tried to stay focused as they gathered information.

"The victim's name was Tom Addleston."

"Does anyone else live here?" Sam asked.

The officer shook his head. "A forty-eight year old bachelor."

"So, what happened? Where's the body?"

The officer lead us into the living room and I gasped.

Lying in the middle of the floor was presumably the late Tom Addleston, though it was difficult to tell with the way his face had been gnawed off. He looked more like pound hamburger than a man. His arms and legs were covered in bite marks too, as well as chunks of flesh missing in some places.

There was blood everywhere.

I covered my mouth, turning away as a rush of dizziness made me sway. The sounds around me were fading in and out as I closed my eyes, trying not to faint. I vaguely registered the feeling of a hand on my arm, which I gratefully allowed to tow me away.

I wasn't surprised when I ended up in the backseat of the Impala, though I certainly didn't expect to see Dean when I finally opened my eyes. I took several deep breaths, staring up at Dean as he waited for me to calm down.

"Sorry," I apologized absently, feeling embarrassed that I had nearly fainted in the middle of a crime scene, but unable to get the sight of Tom Addleston's mangled face out of my head.

So much for not drawing attention to myself. I cringed as Dean opened his mouth, preparing myself for the inevitable teasing.

"Don't worry about it," Dean said instead, surprising me again. "Not everyone has the stomach for seeing something like that."

I thought about how neither Sam nor Dean had reacted. At least, I didn't think they had. Then again, I had been a little too preoccupied trying not to pass out to watch them. A few minutes passed by in silence as I composed myself.

"There's something that I don't get though," Dean admitted. "You seemed fine when we checked out Sally's body. So, why the sudden freak-out?"

"I don't like blood," I confessed. "It makes me sick."

"Huh."

 

I glanced up at him, noting his raised eyebrows. I wondered what he was thinking about.

"What?"

"Nothing. Just kind of ironic that the girl who hates blood is being hunted by vampires," Dean smirked.

I laughed uneasily, trying not to think about how he'd react if he found out I had dated one.

...

I cradled my cup of coffee, sending a silent thank you to whoever had come up with the idea of a twenty-four hour diner. I took a large gulp, grateful for the caffeine. Judging by the near blissful look on Sam and Dean's faces, I would say that they were feeling the same. I stifled a yawn, blinking my eyes rapidly to banish the last remnants of sleep.

"There's no way a bear made those marks. The bites and scratches are too small," Sam was saying.

"So that means there's something else out there chompin' on people. Great," Dean bit sarcastically.

"Something that doesn't leave a trace either," Sam added.

"I know the bear thing is impossible..." I said slowly. "But in Tom's case, couldn't something small get in and out? Like a rat?" I asked.

"I wondered the same thing," Sam sighed. "But it would take a massive amount to do that kind of damage."

"He could've had an infestation?" Dean suggested, shrugging.

"Highly unlikely. The guy worked for a pest control company."

"That's ironic," I murmured, swallowing down more coffee.

I smiled when Sandy the waitress stopped by to refill our mugs and leaned forward to grab more creamer.

"Maybe the rats were getting revenge," Dean remarked, swiping the bowl of creamer before I could reach it.

I glared at him, watching him smirk as he slowly added one to his own cup.

"Yeah, revenge." Sam rolled his eyes. "And maybe the bear had a grudge against Sally."

I glanced purposefully at an approaching waitress and watched Dean's attention drift to her as she sashayed by. I used the opportunity to quickly take the bowl back and grinned in triumph at Dean's glare when he realized. It might have been childish, but I was too tired to put up with his shenanigans.

"Maybe you two should share the creamer like good children," Sam suggested, raising an eyebrow at our antics.

"Sorry, Sam. I'll blame this on being half-delirious from lack of sleep," I replied, trailing off in a yawn.

Despite having that nap with Dean while we were drinking yesterday, I was oddly tired. I expected that had more to do with my emotional state after talking about Edward and taking out my frustration on Sam. Being woken up in the middle of the night to check out a corpse certainly hadn't helped.

"It's okay, Bella," Sam smiled. "Too bad Dean can't use that excuse... He's always been immature."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You call it being immature. I call it being fun," he smirked, waggling his eyebrows at me.

"Jerk," Sam muttered.

"Bitch," Dean countered.

I snickered quietly, trying to hide my amusement behind my cup as I took a generous drink.

...

When we returned to Tom Addleston's house, all of the officers were gone. The place had become eerily still and if I hadn't known better, I wouldn't have thought anything was amiss.

I followed the brothers as they ducked under the police's caution tape, wondering what we would find. Considering what had happened when we broke into the houses in Spokane, I thought I was ready for anything.

"Let's look for any signs of those rats," Sam advised, kneeling down on the floor as he pressed his ear to the living room wall. "Maybe I missed something."

I helped the brothers search, checking every nook and cranny. There didn't seem to be anything to find though—not even droppings. If I didn't already know better, I would never have expected that a bunch of rats had run through here.

I could tell that the brothers were growing frustrated as our searching continued to reveal nothing about how or why Tom Addleston had died.

"Was anything taken with the body?" Dean asked after we had reconvened in the living room.

I tried not to stare at the blood stains on the floor.

"I didn't see anything, but there might've been something on him that we didn't see?" Sam thought aloud.

"Maybe we should take another trip to the morgue," Dean replied. "Doesn't look like we're gonna find anything here."

...

We were in the morgue once more, though we were viewing an entirely different body this time. I kept my gaze averted, not needing to see Tom Addleston's corpse again. My subconscious already had enough material for my nightmares. I wanted to prove that I could handle this, but I didn't need to torture myself.

"Do you have his personal effects? Anything that was found with the body?" Sam asked.

"Everything I've got is in this box," the mortician said, presenting Sam with said box.

"Thanks, mind giving us a moment?"

The mortician shrugged, but left the room. I peered into the box as Sam and Dean snapped on some rubber gloves and began sifting through the items.

"One pair of bloody pants with a matching shirt," Dean murmured. "Car keys, cell phone...eureka!"

"What'd you find?" Sam asked.

"A bloody...flute?" Sam raised an eyebrow, but Dean just waved him off. "Okay, so I don't know what instrument it is. Honestly, if it isn't a guitar or a set of drums, I don't care."

Sam rolled his eyes, but allowed Dean to continue.

"Look at these markings engraved on it," Dean pointed out and I moved closer to get a better look. "The guy might've had his face gnawed off by rats, but this was the cause."

"How can that," I nodded at the instrument, "cause that?" I asked, gesturing back at Tom Addleston's corpse.

"Because it's cursed," Dean grinned, obviously excited over figuring something out.

"Cursed?" I repeated in disbelief. "Curses exist?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Of course curses exist. That shouldn't surprise you after meeting vampires and ghosts."

"I guess not..." I conceded, though I was still a little shocked. "So does this mean that Sally was cursed too?" I wondered.

"That's where it gets tricky," Sam admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "Not all cursed objects are so easy to identify. And Sally was homeless, so..."

"So she probably didn't have much," I surmised. "Wouldn't that narrow it down, then?" I wondered.

"We need to talk to someone that knew her," Dean reasoned. "Homeless or not, their deaths were too similar not to be linked."

...

I approached the front of the line nervously, feeling awkward. Sam and Dean seemed to be doing just fine, which I really envied at the moment. I could feel several gazes on my back, likely wondering what I was doing in a place like this.

Since Sally Johnson was homeless and didn't have a family, there were few places to look for people who knew her. Aside from asking random people on the street, there were the usual suspects—homeless shelters and soup kitchens.

We were currently in a soup kitchen that Sally apparently frequented. The source of my anxiety laid in the fact that we had just cut in front of a rather large line for food.

"I'll have the tomato bisque," Dean announced, his cocky grin firmly in place.

"I'm sorry?" the brunette behind the counter replied, surveying the three of us. "There's no cutting allowed here." Her eyes narrowed. "I also think you're in the wrong place."

"We're with the U.S. Wildlife Service," Sam explained, quickly cutting off what was bound to be another sarcastic comment from Dean. "We'd like to ask you a few questions, if you have time."

"I'm sorry, but there are a lot of hungry people here and you're holding up the line," she replied politely.

"It concerns Sally Johnson's death."

It took a moment for recognition to flare in the woman's eyes, but when it did, her polite smile swiftly fell.

"Alright. Let me...let me just find someone to cover for me," she sighed, removing her gloves.

Dean leaned back against the counter and I glanced behind us, noting the looks we were getting.

"Don't worry, someone will be back to serve you folks soon," Dean announced.

...

"I didn't know Sally had died," the woman sighed sadly. "What happened?"

"She was the victim of an animal attack," Sam explained as gently as he could. "What's your name?"

The woman dabbed her eyes with a tissue. "Anna Felsing."

"Anna, when was the last time you saw Sally Johnson?" Sam asked.

"She was here just a few days ago."

"Did you notice anything different about her?"

"What does it matter?" Anna asked in confusion. "I thought you said she was attacked by an animal."

"She was—we've just got to cover all our bases," Dean explained, hurriedly. "Did Sally seem strange the last time you saw her? Maybe she did things she normally wouldn't, or she started carrying something you hadn't seen before?"

Anna stared at us oddly. "No, I didn't notice anything," she admitted. "She wasn't any different than usual and she never carried more than the clothes on her back."

I frowned, wondering how we could possibly find the object that cursed Sally if she only had her clothes. Sam and Dean had already looked through her things before we left the morgue, but none of it seemed out of the ordinary. Although I knew she was homeless, there must have been something.

"Anna, how well did you know Sally Johnson?" Dean asked.

"Not well. No one really did. Though, I think I knew her better than most," Anna mused.

"What do you mean by that?"

"Gol—Sally had this...disorder. It was never diagnosed or anything because she didn't have the money for a proper doctor, but I think it was OCD? Anyway, she was always really particular about things."

"What things?" I asked curiously.

"She always had to step inside places with her left foot first, even though she was right-handed," Anna explained with a smile. "Things like that."

"So what made you think you were closest to her?"

"Well, she always had me serve her. Sally had all of these rules for herself, but above all, the food she ate was the most important."

"Why do you think she singled you out?" Sam asked.

"We get a lot of volunteers here...and they're all really nice for the most part, but..." she trailed off, hesitant.

"But?" Dean prompted.

"But no one else was really willing to put up with her rules for food. She wouldn't eat unless it was just right. And I mean that. I've watched her go days without eating just because her soup was a little cold, or a little too hot."

"Damn. That's insane," Dean muttered, raising his eyebrows.

Considering what I had witnessed of Dean's eating habits so far, I was hardly surprised that he would think so.

"No it's not," Anna glared at Dean. "It was a mental illness. She couldn't help it anymore than we can stop breathing."

Dean held up his hands in defense.

"He didn't mean anything by that," Sam apologized, trying to placate her. "We just can't imagine how hard that must have been for her to go through."

"She made do. She was a good kid, except..."

"Except what?"

"Well... I guess there's no point in keeping it a secret anymore, since she's gone," Anna sighed. "Her thing about food... You can imagine how hard it must have been for her to find something to eat that fit her criteria."

Anna paused, wiping her nose.

"I was worried about her, so I followed her one night," Anna began. "I couldn't take her in or anything, but I thought maybe I could make her something to eat at home once in a while."

I stared at Anna—a pretty brunette in her late twenties who was so willing to help a girl she barely knew—and wondered why there weren't more people out there like her. I was amazed by her level of generosity.

"Anyway, it turns out that she was stealing food. She'd watch a house for days, learn where they kept the key and when it was empty."

"Then she'd sneak in and fix herself something to eat?" Dean finished.

Anna nodded. "She told me she never took anything but food, and I believed her."

"She convinced you not to turn her in," Sam deduced.

"She was just hungry," Anna defended. "I couldn't turn her in when she was just hungry and desperate. I tried to give her an alternative though."

"She didn't want it though, did she?" I asked.

"No," Anna agreed, quirking a smile despite the renewed tears in her eyes. "She didn't want to take advantage of my hospitality," she laughed sadly. "Poor Goldie..."

"Goldie?"

"Oh, sorry. That's our nickname for her...because of her gold curls," Anna explained. "I almost didn't know who you were talking about when you called her Sally."

I glanced at Sam, noting the sudden gleam in his eye.

"Thank you for your time," Sam said quickly, urging us out the door.

...

"What, Sam? What are you suddenly so excited about?" Dean grumbled when we returned to the car.

"They called her Goldie... Don't you get it?" Sam asked. "Sally's name was Goldie and she was mauled by a bear."

"The little boy's chair!" I exclaimed, suddenly realizing where he was going with this as all of the details we learned about Sally began to make sense.

"Yes!" Sam grinned.

"Now neither of you are making sense."

Sam huffed in exasperation. "You know, a little girl sneaks into a house and sits in all of the chairs. She tries three different bowls of porridge, but won't eat two of them because they're too hot or cold?"

Dean continued to stare at Sam as if he had lost his mind.

"Goldilocks and the three bears," I explained.

"Everyone knows that fairytale," Sam said, gesturing to me.

"Goldilocks and the three bears," Dean repeated, rolling his eyes. "Come on, Sam. Fairytales? Really?"

"Why not?" Sam asked. "It wouldn't be any crazier than anything else we've seen."

Dean didn't look convinced quite yet, but seemed ready to humor us. I couldn't help thinking he was being a bit of a hypocrite. Hadn't he once told me that pretty much everything was real? Why then, did he have such a problem believing that someone could be recreating fairytales?

I didn't think the idea sounded all that farfetched, not after Spokane. If Kelly Tanner could force mothers to kill their children, why couldn't someone else be doing something similar here? I didn't know how someone could exercise that kind of control of bears or rats, but I was trying to keep an open mind.

"And the rats? Come on, fairytale boy. What story has a flute and some rats?"

"The Pied Piper?" I wondered aloud, unable to think of anything else that fit that criteria.

"The story is a little off, but I think you might be right," Sam replied.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"The Pied Piper supposedly went town to town, getting paid to use his pipe to lure the rats away. But one town decided not to pay, so the Pied Piper decided to use his pipe to lure their children away in revenge."

"Well, I definitely don't remember Goldilocks getting eaten by the bears either, so maybe whoever's doing this isn't concerned with accuracy," Dean pointed out.

"What's the point?" I wondered. "I mean, why kill these people? Why make them live out these horrible fairytales?" I asked, disgusted by the idea of someone targeting these people like this.

The brothers were quiet for a moment.

"People don't always need a reason to be sadistic," Dean eventually replied.

...

"The flute was obviously responsible for Addleston's death, but what about Goldie?" Dean muttered.

"I don't know," Sam groaned, slamming his head on the table.

I chewed on my fingernail, pacing slowly around the motel room as the brothers tried to figure things out. It seemed that every time one question was answered, a million more replaced it—like slicing the head off of a hydra.

Sally's role as Goldilocks was obvious, but she didn't have anything on her, much less something that was cursed. I supposed that she could have hidden something somewhere, though I knew it would probably be a miracle if we ever found it.

"Could Sally have hidden the object somewhere?" I asked anyway, just to have something to say.

Dean rubbed his face tiredly. "The object would've been close to her when she died," he explained, his tone exasperated.

"Maybe it got lost in the debris at the Karins' place?" I offered.

"There are too many maybes," Dean grumbled. "We need to figure this out before someone else gets the ax."

"Do you think that's going to happen? That they're just going to keep killing people?" I asked quietly.

"They usually do," Dean sighed. "Until we stop them."

I continued to pace around in silence, trying not to think about how high the stakes really were. Amidst all of the brothers' jokes, it was easy to forget that there were actual lives on the line—that this wasn't just an interesting riddle to be solved.

"It's getting close to dark," Sam remarked, glancing toward the window. "I don't know what time the shops close, but we still need to see if we can trace where Tom might've gotten the flute."

"Do you think he bought it here?" I asked in surprise, thinking about how calm the town had seemed only days earlier.

To think that someone could be selling cursed objects to unsuspecting people...

"He might've," Sam shrugged. "Sally might've even stole something too, despite what Anna said."

I wanted to believe what Anna had said about Sally, but I had to concede Sam's point. If the girl was staking out houses to steal food, it wasn't entirely farfetched that she might take other things too.

"There's a local music store we should check out."

"We'll go to the music store," Dean offered, nodding toward me.

I was surprised that he wanted me to take me with him. I guessed if Sam was meant to watch me yesterday, then today it must be Dean's turn. I tried not to feel disappointed that he only wanted me to come along because of that.

"Alright," Sam agreed easily. "I think I'll take another look at Tom's house and maybe stop by the Karins' house again."

I quickly slipped on my sweatshirt and followed the brothers out to the car, sliding into the backseat. I stared outside the window, watching the trees as we drove passed. It took Dean's gruff voice to pull me out of my daze—I hadn't realized we had stopped.

"If I find a single scratch on her when you come pick us up, your ass is grass," Dean was threatening Sam.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Have I ever brought her back scratched?"

Dean's eyes narrowed. "You drove my baby through a house."

"You drove into a house?" I blinked, incredulously.

"A ghost was trying to stop my heart. I didn't have time to worry about scratching the paintjob," Sam defended.

Dean's eyes remained narrowed, but he didn't comment as we got out and Sam moved into the driver's seat. I watched Sam mock salute before pulling away and turned to Dean.

"So...the music store?"

Dean rubbed his chin and puffed out a sigh.

"Yeah."

...

The first music store we visited—the one Sam had dropped us off at—proved to be a waste of time. While the place did have a variety of instruments, they were all pretty standard. Dean and I still spent an inordinate amount of time searching the place, hoping to find something out of the ordinary.

Once Dean was convinced that the place had nothing to offer, we made our way to one of the other local music stores. This one sold albums and movies as well, which they unfortunately thought was a good idea to showcase through their new speakers.

I tried not to listen for the most part, though I couldn't seem to ignore all of it. One particular song almost maybe me tear up as I listened to the woman lament the loss of the man she loved. I shoved the hurt down deep, determined to keep it together. I was pulled out of my thoughts when Dean nudged my arm.

"Come on," he said. "Doesn't look like we're going to find anything here."

I nodded quickly, glad that I wouldn't have to endure anymore of this.

...

I followed Dean into the last music store on our list, chewing my lip in worry. This was the last place for us to look, so if we didn't find anything here, that meant that Tom Addleston hadn't bought his flute locally. I didn't know how good Sam and Dean's computer hacking skills were, but I knew learning that the flute had been purchased online would make this case so much harder. After all, Sally didn't have access to the internet, nor the funds to shop online.

There were instruments hanging on the walls, organized by type. Dean and I walked right over to the section with the woodwinds, checking to see if any of them looked out of the ordinary. While the brothers didn't think we would find another cursed flute, it was important to check if there were any recently vacant spots where Tom Addleston's flute might've been.

"Doesn't look like anything is missing here," Dean sighed. "Let's split up and check the rest."

"Okay," I agreed, moving to another section.

I studied each of the instruments on my side carefully, trying to make out any strange symbols like there were on Tom Addleston's flute. Sam and Dean had warned me not to touch anything when we learned there were cursed objects at play, in case I got sucked into my own fairytale nightmare.

When I reached the end of yet another section and still hadn't managed to get any results, I sighed in exasperation. I glanced around the shop, pausing when I finally spotted Dean near the front of the store.

Instead of looking through the instruments on the other side of the store, Dean was leaning against the front counter, chatting with the perky cashier. Even from this distance, it was easy to notice the signs. While I was busy trying to help solve this case, Dean was flirting with the locals.

I clenched my jaw, feeling the same anger and frustration I had felt when I was being ignored by Jenny the waitress. While last time it was my dinner that was neglected because of Dean's flirting, this time was so much worse.

There were people's lives at stake. He should be more focused on finding another cursed object than trying to get a number.

I stared at them for another moment, the urge to yell at him for being so stupid growing. There was another urge though, one that quickly overpowered it.

I turned around and stalked over to the door, wrenching it open. I heard the bell jingle behind me, but I didn't look back as I stomped down the street, my steps growing lighter as my pace increased. Suddenly, I was running, feeling the icy air whip across my face.

I stepped off the sidewalk without much thought, quickly changing direction toward the trees. I slipped between the large trunks, not slowing even as the branches became a little thicker. I didn't stop until my lungs ached and I leaned forward, resting my hands on my knees.

I took deep breaths in an effort to calm down. I straightened after a few minutes when I heard the distinct crack of a branch behind me, suddenly realizing how foolish this had been.

I whipped around and gasped at the sight of someone I hadn't seen in what seemed like forever and certainly never expected to find here. Standing a feet away was none other than Jacob Black.

"Bella?"

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I loved the episode "Bedtime Stories" but this will take the place of that, since they have a similar plotline.


	7. Part VII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "What's the point of protecting you if you're just going to go offer yourself up to another vampire?"

"Jacob?" I breathed in astonishment.

If not for his voice—which had grown deeper and had a distinct hard edge—I might not have recognized him. Gone was his long dark hair, which had been cropped short. His cheeks had lost their roundness, revealing sharpened features that looked almost harsh in the dimming light.

His spurt of growth in height had once made him seem lanky and a little gawky, but he now had the broad shoulders and thick arms to match. Despite the chilly weather, he was only wearing shorts, leaving his chest and feet bare. His hair—what little was left—was messy and his skin was covered in dirt, but he was otherwise unscathed.

He looked like he had aged years since I last saw him and for one frightening moment, I wondered if it had been that long—if time had simply moved differently while travelling with the brothers.

I shook that thought away, continuing to stare at this version of the Jacob I had once called my personal sun. He wasn't that anymore—not in appearance nor stature—and the most striking difference between this Jacob and mine, were his tight lips and even tighter, cold eyes.

"What happened to you?" I choked out, nearly frozen in the presence of his icy stare.

"What happened to _me_?" he repeated, incredulously. "What happened to _you_?"

I thought of everything that had happened since I left Forks and the circumstances under which I had departed. I couldn't tell Jacob what I had been through since the last time I had seen him. Remembering all of those worried calls that I had made and the increasingly cold response I had gained from Billy and himself, I realized that I didn't want to.

Sometimes, when Jacob and I were hanging out while he worked on our motorcycles, I almost wanted to confide in him, to finally have someone to talk to about everything that had happened to me, just to have someone remind me that it had all been real. Recalling his treatment and his _abandonment_ before I left, I realized that I _didn't want to_ —not anymore.

My anger, which had dissipated somewhat in the shock of Jacob's presence, quickly returned.

"What do _you_ care?"

Jacob glared at me.

"You left without a word to anyone. Just that stupid note."

From the look on his face, I could tell that he had read my note to Charlie. That note was private and I couldn't picture Charlie spreading it around. The thought of Jacob intruding on my privacy like that only fueled my anger.

"Again, I don't see what that matters to _you_ ," I glared right back. "You made it clear that you don't give a crap about me."

Jacob strode forward suddenly, his large hands wrapping around my arms tightly. I glared up at him, determined not to let him intimidate me.

"Don't you understand?" he growled, his grip tightening. "I know what happened that day. And when you were gone, I thought—I thought he had gotten you."

"What?" I asked, my eyes widening at what he was implying.

Jacob couldn't know what happened—not the truth anyway. _He couldn't_.

" _That fucking leech_ ," Jacob spat through gritted teeth.

"I—I don't know what you're talking about," I stuttered and I knew I was too shocked right now to make it sound convincing.

"We found his ashes, Bella," Jacob revealed. "And I could _smell_ your scent all over it."

I stared at Jacob in disbelief, memories of all of the times different vampires had commented on my scent firing rapidly through my thoughts, too quick to really concentrate on any of them. All I could really focus on was the feel of Jacob's unnaturally hot skin on mine, nearly scorching my arms where he gripped me.

"I could smell _them_ too."

My brows furrowed at his low tone, my gaze trained on his rapidly darkening eyes.

"I thought you were dead," he whispered, his gaze flitting to my lips as he leaned in.

My eyes widened as I realized what he was about to do and I tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but his grip was too tight. He quickly brought his lips to mine, pressing insistently even as I continued to struggle. I pushed on his chest to no avail and his mouth grew harder against mine, demanding a response.

He somehow managed to pull my bottom lip between his, even as I resolutely refused to open my mouth to his coaxing. I pushed harder against his chest, whimpering in pain when he suddenly bit down harshly on my lip.

I managed to slip out of his grasp then, staggering backward as I brought my hand to my lip. I could taste the blood before I saw it smeared across my fingertips and I shuddered, feeling sickeningly dizzy. It took me a few moments of calm breathing to realize that Jacob was staring at me, his gaze still riveted to my lips.

I gritted my teeth against the taste of blood and the fury I felt. I stomped forward without thinking, wrenching my arm back to deliver a punch to his face. I screamed when my fist connected with his jaw, feeling as if I had hit stone. I cradled my injured hand to my chest, clenching my eyes shut against the pain shooting through my hand.

"Bella? Are you okay?" Jacob asked in concern.

"Am I okay?" I snapped, incredulously. "You just _forced_ yourself on me and I think I broke my hand. I'm definitely not _okay_."

I gritted my teeth against the pain, clenching my eyes shut as I tried not to cry. My thoughts were a swirl of psychopathic ghosts and too hot skin—and I felt so goddamn _violated_.

"What _are_ you?" I demanded because although he might have abandoned me, I couldn't believe that he would do this.

There was something off—maybe Sam Uley's cult had gotten to him?

Jacob seemed to snap out of it then, his concern quickly replaced with anger. He ignored my question.

"I _forced_ myself on you?" he repeated, as if he couldn't quite believe it. "So you'll screw leeches and perverts, but I'm not good enough for you?"

I felt my face redden at his crass words

" _I can smell them on you_ ," he snarled. "You must've really loved your _precious Edward_. Loved him enough to jump into bed with the first guys to come sniffing around."

"Stop it."

"A little old for you, though, aren't they?" Jacob continued. "Oh, wait. What am I saying? The leech was probably hundreds of years old and that never bothered you, did it?"

"Stop it, Jacob," I repeated through gritted teeth.

"Why? We both know it's true. Do they care that they're getting a leech's sloppy seconds? Or is just all the same to them?"

I couldn't stop the tears from overflowing now as Jacob's words grew increasingly cruel. I flinched back when he surged forward, pulling against the neck of my sweatshirt to reveal the bruises on my neck.

"Is that why you let them choke you? What, you can't get off unless your life is in danger?" he sneered.

I staggered back, feeling as if each question—despite being untrue—was a slap to the face.

"Well if you want danger," Jacob paused as a shudder wracked through his whole body. " _I'll fucking give you danger_ ," he snarled.

Jacob suddenly fell forward, his body shaking up until the point that his skin _broke_ , allowing russet brown fur to spill forth. I watched in horror as he transformed into a gigantic wolf whose dark eyes rose to settle on me.

He licked his chops as he stared at me, removing the remnants of blood left from Jacob's harsh kiss with his long tongue. His ears flicked down and his lips pulled back to reveal a terrifying set of large, sharp teeth. He threw his head back to release a piercing howl.

_This must be how he knew about Edward_ , I thought dazedly.

" _Bella—run!_ "

I whipped around, shocked to find Dean standing a few feet away. I couldn't think about how much he might have heard, not with Jacob crouched behind me, prepared to attack. I sprinted over to Dean, following suit as he began dodging between trees.

I flinched at the sound of a loud crack behind me, wondering if Jacob had merely run through a tree in his pursuit. Dean just kept running, remaining close even as I struggled to keep up. He grabbed my uninjured hand at one point, pulling me through the trees.

Unfortunately, the added momentum made me lose my footing, and our hands separated when I crashed to the floor. I pulled myself up to my knees, whimpering at the increase of pain in my hand when I had reflexively tried to break my fall.

" _Come on! You have to keep running!_ " Dean barked, grabbing my hand again and wrenching me to my feet.

I heard another crash behind us—one that was much closer than the last.

Dean and I continued to run for our lives and I was so relieved to see the end of the tree line that I could have wept. Our pace didn't slow as we approached, determined to escape the foliage as quickly as possible.

I groaned as I suddenly hit a barrier, falling backward into the forest. Dean was standing on just the other side, but quickly ran back when he realized I wasn't beside him.

" _Come on, Bella_ ," he urged. "We need to get out of the forest. We'll have a better chance out there."

I stood back up and tried again, gasping in pain when I found myself wrenched back.

" _I can't_ ," I cried, frustrated and scared. "Something keeps yanking me back."

That was when I noticed it—my new sweatshirt. Whereas before it was soft and comfortable, now it was heavy and stifling. I realized that just standing was beginning to wear on me, a lethargic feeling that came from more than just running. I was also suddenly having trouble breathing.

"Little Red-Riding Hood," Dean murmured in realization as I begun to tug at the fabric.

I couldn't reply, too busy trying to rip the sweater off. It seemed that the harder I pulled the more difficult it became to breathe.

"Dean," I choked, falling to my knees.

" _Goddamn it_ ," Dean sweared.

I struggled to breathe as Dean pulled a machete out of his coat and kneeled down in front of me. I felt his hands slip under the material, the back of his fingers lightly brushing my navel as my shirt rode up. I shivered at the chill of his skin, so refreshing after Jacob's scorching touch.

I heard more than saw Dean jerk the knife up, listening to the sweatshirt rip as he cut it off. I released a shaky sigh of relief when the material finally fell off of me, suddenly able to breathe again.

I struggled back to my feet, watching Dean throw all of the ripped fabric into a pile before pulling out a container of kerosene and a lighter. He quickly doused the remains and lit it up, stoically staring into the fire until the clothing turned to ash.

I stood beside Dean, realizing that Jacob's savage pursuit had gone silent the moment he set the sweatshirt aflame. My sigh of relief seemed to snap Dean out of his thoughts.

"Let me see your hand," Dean ordered, breaking the silence.

I resisted the urge to cradle my hand closer to my chest and warily extended it toward him. Dean gently took my hand and I stared at his face as he examined it, wincing when he lightly prodded one of my fingers.

"Looks broken," Dean murmured impassively.

"Yeah," I agreed, confused by his behavior.

It was like he was reading a script—there didn't seem to be any real concern behind his questions. We might not have known each other for long, but after the way he comforted me after my nightmares, I thought he might have shown a little more care.

"What's wrong?" I asked, trying to figure out why he was suddenly giving me the cold shoulder.

Although I wouldn't exactly call us close, things had been almost...companionable. I hadn't really noticed before, but the tension in his shoulders was a stark contrast to his generally laid back stance. Was he angry that I had left the music store alone, resulting in my run-in with Jacob?

I was still a little miffed at him for hitting on that cashier when we were supposed to be looking for cursed objects, but I was too relieved to be alive at the moment to muster my previous ire. Had something happened that I didn't know about?

"Dean?" I prompted when he still hadn't replied.

His back was turned as he replaced the kerosene and lighter in his jacket. I stepped forward and lightly touched his arm to get his attention, refusing to allow him to go on ignoring me—not when something was clearly wrong. Dean whirled around, knocking my hand off his arm. I felt rooted to the spot as he glared at me.

"What the hell was that about?" he demanded.

I should have known this was coming. When he had suddenly urged me to run as Jacob rounded on me, I knew that there was a good chance that he had been listening in. A sickening feeling settled in my stomach as I recalled Jacob's harsh words.

"I—" I stuttered out, at a complete loss of what to say.

"All this time. _All this time_ , I _knew_ you were hiding something, but _this_?" Dean gestured in the direction we had come from, his arm slicing through the air in an angry jerk. " _Are you stupid_?"

"No," I bit out, earning a condescending laugh in return, though the sound was devoid of actual humor.

"You dated a goddamn _vampire_. It doesn't _get_ anymore stupid than that."

I winced as I unconsciously clenched my fists, feeling a sharp pain shoot through my injured hand.

"He was different," I argued vehemently.

Dean stared at me in disbelief. "You're delusional," he scoffed.

"I am _not_ delusional!" I yelled.

I hadn't meant to raise my voice, but Dean's words had easily coaxed that ever present rage to bubble up to the surface. I was sick of people telling me I was crazy to love a vampire. He _was_ different. I didn't care what he was because he was a _good_ person. Why couldn't anyone accept that?

Fate had dealt him a hand he didn't want, but instead of succumbing to that ever present need to feed, he had overcome it. He was the strongest person I had ever known.

"Dean? Bella?"

Dean and I turned toward the sound of Sam's voice and I watched him jog toward us, willing myself to calm down. Dean had begun shuffling a bit, his movements obviously reflecting his anger. Sam noticed this immediately when he reached us.

"What happened?" he asked worriedly, glancing between us.

"She lied to us—that's what happened."

"I didn't lie!" I protested.

"What's the point of all this?" Dean demanded, gesturing wildly between the three of us. "What's the point of protecting you if you're just going to go offer yourself up to another vampire?"

"I'm not _offering_ myself up to _anyone_ ," I gritted out.

"Then what the _hell_ do you call it?" Dean barked.

"Will someone _please_ explain what's going on!" Sam interrupted, raising his voice.

" _Gladly_ ," Dean replied with heavy sarcasm. "Turns out, Bella lied to us about—"

" _I didn't lie_ ," I cut him off, forcefully.

I could feel the anger fade from my system as I realized that I couldn't keep the Cullens' involvement in my life a secret any longer. I had promised not to tell a soul—and I kept my promises—but thanks to Jacob, there wasn't any point now. Dean _knew_ and although I wanted to go back to how things had been before, I knew I couldn't.

"Victoria is hunting me out of revenge for James," I began, my gaze absently sliding to my crescent-shaped scar, now visible without my red sweatshirt to cover my arms. "And James did die in that fire, but not before being ripped to pieces."

I closed my eyes in defeat, taking a deep breath.

"You see, they were just passing through Forks—Victoria, James, and Laurent—but when they realized there were already vampires there, they got curious," I explained wryly. "And when they saw me with them, they thought I was...a snack," I grimaced, recalling James' words.

Dean snorted and I clenched my eyes tighter shut.

"When they stood up for me—Edward and his family—James got angry. He became obsessed. He started hunting me and when it became clear that he wasn't going to catch me alone, he lured me into a trap," at this, I opened my eyes, leveling my gaze at Dean. "I thought he had my mother—I didn't lie about that."

I continued to stare at Dean, though his expression remained blank. I averted my gaze.

"He toyed with me," my throat constricted at the words, but I pressed on. "He had this camera... He said he was going to torture me. He said he wanted Edward to be able to watch me die."

I could still remember the terror that I had felt when James revealed that part of his plan to me. I couldn't bear for Edward to witness that.

A small part of me wondered if he would care so much now, but I quickly shoved that thought away.

"Edward and his family showed up before he could kill me," I continued. "They ripped him up and burned the pieces, but I wasn't really aware for most of that. I was too busy bleeding out from a broken leg. And then..."

"And then...?" Sam prompted quietly when I hadn't continued for several moments.

"I was burning. James had bitten me—"

"He _what_?"

I jumped at Dean's exclamation, my gaze immediately flitting to him. His body was tense—more so than before—and a quick glance at Sam showed that he was now standing much the same. A tiny sliver of fear and dread slid up my spine at the calculating look in their eyes.

Was this how all of those monsters felt when faced with the Winchesters?

"If he bit you, then you would be a vampire," Sam reasoned aloud slowly, his tone calm, despite his current stature. "You're obviously not a vampire."

"No," Dean agreed after a moment. "You're pale, but you're not _that_ pale."

Apparently, even as I stood there pouring everything out to them, Dean still couldn't resist cracking a joke.

"I'm not a vampire," I sighed in confirmation and a small bit of resentment. "But James did bite me." I raised my arm, indicating the scar that I usually kept hidden. "I didn't turn because Edward—he sucked the venom out."

"He _sucked_ the venom out?" Sam repeated incredulously, after a lengthy pause.

Sam shifted closer and reached toward me, his gaze silently asking my permission to examine the scar. Although the urge to shy away was palpable, I nodded. I tried not to flinch as Sam's fingers closed around my arm and he stared at the mark I had kept dutifully hidden.

"Yes," I said simply, directing my gaze at Dean again. "I told you he was different. _They're_ different."

Dean stared right back, but remained silent. His face reflected his disbelief at my statement, but his expression was otherwise closed off. Unlike Sam, who even as he studied my scar intently still managed to radiate concern, Dean was difficult to read. I found myself wishing I could borrow Edward's gift for a moment, just to get a sense of Dean's thoughts.

"This is definitely a bite mark," Sam observed.

When Sam released me, I lowered my arm to my side, resisting the urge to hide the mark. I was feeling far too exposed with my secrets and my scars laid out in the open, but I didn't want the brothers to see me cower from their gaze.

"So the bloodsucker saved you." Dean rolled his eyes. "If he's Mr. Noble, then why wasn't he there to take care of Lestat? Why isn't he here to protect you from the red-head?"

I clenched my eyes shut, feeling that familiar ache in my chest. It had dulled somewhat since I left Forks, but that question—the one Dean had also demanded an answer to on the day we met—it still _hurt_.

"He's gone," I replied, much as I had that day.

"Oh no," Dean said, shaking his head. "We're gonna need more than that this time. If you don't want us to take you home—"

My head whipped up and my eyes snapped open to stare at Dean. Although I had feared that if I continued to withhold information they would take me home, I was still shocked to hear the threat put into words.

"Dean!"

Sam's voice was full of reproach, but even if he really did disagree—and that was a big if—I knew that he would likely buckle under Dean's will. They were brothers after all and even though my time with them had been brief, their bond was unmistakable.

I didn't want to answer Dean's question. I didn't want to talk about why Edward was no longer around. However, I knew that more than anything, I didn't want to go home.

There was no escaping this time, not with Dean so adamant. It felt like my whole body was drooping with defeat and if I had been alone, I would have succumbed to the desire to drop to the ground and curl in on myself.

"What do you want from me?" I demanded, feeling helpless. " _He's gone_. He _left_. He doesn't _want me_ anymore. He doesn't _care_. Is that what you want to hear?"

I was surprised at how easily the words had slipped out. I could feel the tears running down my cheeks, but I refused to acknowledge them. I stared at Dean, clenching my jaw.

"What did you expect?" Dean asked, though he looked a little uncomfortable, likely at the sight of my tears. "He's a vampire. They're _monsters_."

"No, they're not. Not all of them," I argued, though even I could hear the note of defeat in my voice. "And I loved him, okay? I loved him more than anything."

Sam and Dean remained silent.

"But he doesn't want me anymore," I repeated quietly. "So can we please... _please_ stop talking about him," I begged.

I don't know what it was—the begging, the tears, maybe the look on my face—but Dean didn't protest this time. In fact, neither brother seemed to know quite what to say.

...

I sat on my bed in the hotel room, feeling an odd sense of déjà-vu as Sam tended to my hand. This scene was eerily reminiscent to my birthday, when Carlisle had patched me up. In fact, Dean was pacing the room much like Edward had.

"How did you know?" I asked, breaking the silence.

Dean paused, turning toward me.

"What?"

"About my sweatshirt," I clarified. "You said _Little Red Riding Hood_. How did you know it was cursed?"

I had been too busy suffocating at the time to ask, but now that we were safely tucked away in our motel room, I wanted some answers of my own.

"I didn't," Dean admitted, much to my surprise. "Sam figured it out. He called me after you ran off," Dean said gruffly, a note of accusation in his voice.

I wasn't going to let that get to me—not when it was his carelessness that had made me leave the store in the first place.

"But how did you know?" I asked Sam curiously.

"Timothy."

"Who?" I asked in confusion.

"The Karins' son," Sam clarified. "When I went over there today, he pulled me aside and showed me this," Sam paused, pulling a duffle bag toward him.

I watched him unzip the bag and pull out a smaller plastic one with a teddy bear inside. I raised my eyebrow at the stuffed animal, noting the way the bear's dark fur was matted in some places by something dark and red.

"Is that...?"

"Blood—it's blood," Sam confirmed.

"Are you telling me Goldie was mauled by a freaking _teddy bear_?" Dean asked incredulously.

I couldn't deny that I was feeling much the same.

"He said he picked it out from a place called _Treasure Trove_ ," Sam continued, ignoring Dean's outburst.

"That's where I bought the sweatshirt," I gasped.

"I didn't really know that at the time," Sam admitted with a smile. "I just remembered seeing one of their bags in here the other day. I figured you were carrying one of the cursed items around without knowing it."

"And you figured it out," I concluded, glancing at Dean.

"Big wolf pretending to be someone you know...plus...a red sweatshirt that won't let you leave the forest...equals...Little Red Riding Hood," Dean shrugged.

I stared at him for a moment, contemplating his explanation. Had that really just been a wolf pretending to be Jacob? The things he had said, while hurtful, were also based somewhat in truth. Besides, if a wolf was going to disguise itself as Jacob, why had it changed his looks so much since the last time I had seen him?

"So you don't think that was him?" I asked, uncertainly. "But the things he said..."

"We don't know," Sam admitted. "When a curse targets you...it can kind of...tap into your thoughts. Like Sally with the soup."

"Either that, or you're friends with wolves too," Dean muttered, snidely.

I watched Dean pull out a beer, my thoughts drifting to the last time he had done so. Things had been far less tense then, and I found myself missing that. Even if waking up wrapped around him had been embarrassing, at least he hadn't seemed to hate me.

"They exploit your insecurities... Try not to let what he said get to you," Sam's lips were quirked in a wry smile, obviously trying to comfort me.

I didn't know why he bothered. Unlike Dean, Sam's behavior toward me hadn't changed all that much. Actually, it was unexpected and a little disconcerting that the revelations from my past hadn't garnered more of a dramatic response.

I was beginning to grow used to the incredulity and disgust. As much as I despised it, Sam's reaction—or lack thereof—was perplexing.

I was drawn out of my thoughts at the sound of a gun being cocked.

"We should check the forest out anyway," Dean was saying, slipping his gun into the back of his jeans. "That wolf was too big to be natural."

Despite everything that had happened between Jacob and I, a feeling of dread settled in my stomach. Although the brothers had explained how it had merely been a wolf in disguise, there were still so many loose ends. What if that _was_ Jacob? What if the curse had turned him into that wolf? What if he was _trapped_ in that form?

I was still angry—no, _furious_ —with him, but that didn't mean I wanted him to _die_. I couldn't let Sam and Dean hunt him down.

I opened my mouth to protest, but paused as I recalled their response when I tried to stop them from exorcising Derek Denasy's spirit. Even if I told them my theory, they might not hesitate. With all of the things that had come to light about the company I used to keep, I was almost certain Dean would definitely shoot first.

I needed to distract them. At the very least, I could buy Jacob some time to run away. There was no guarantee that he would, but I tried not to think about that. An idea quickly came to mind.

"What about Treasure Trove?" I blurted.

Sam paused what he was doing, furrowing his brows in thought.

"She's right, Dean. We need to make sure there aren't any other cursed objects out there. Besides, how do we know there's still a wolf?" Sam pointed out, gesturing at the teddy bear.

Dean sighed, but nodded in acquiesce.

"Okay, we'll shop first, then bag ourselves a wolf—if there still is one."

I relaxed minutely in relief, hoping that the detour would prove to be enough.

...


	8. Part VIII

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You see, it all comes down to compulsion. Fairytales have a way of working themselves out."

I followed behind Sam and Dean quietly, mimicking their slightly hunched positions. The shop was closed—probably due to the age of the old woman who owned it. Although I still felt uneasy about trespassing, I supposed it was for the best. Her absence would make the brothers' search go a lot smoother.

The three of us had crept around to the back of the store, leaving us free from prying eyes as Sam picked the lock. The shop was old and obviously lacked an adequate security system, an oversight that I was very grateful for.

Dean didn't rush Sam like he had been prone to do, but remained oddly silent. I might have been imagining it, but he also seemed to be standing much further away than usual. I shook my head, realizing how ridiculous I was being.

It didn't matter how close Dean stood beside me and I certainly hadn't been keeping tabs. I was obviously just feeling insecure after his reaction to learning about my... _fraternization_ with vampires. I needed to stop being so sensitive.

I took a deep breath in resolve, following the brothers quietly inside.

In the beginning, I remained close behind Sam and Dean as they searched the shop, watching the beams of their flashlights trail across the merchandise in the store. It was too risky to turn on any of the lights, lest we attract unwanted attention.

Despite our certainty that all of the cursed objects had originated here, neither brother seemed to have any luck spotting more. As each brother slowly drifted apart, I debated which one to follow. Without a flashlight of my own, I couldn't really help in the search. I sighed in annoyance, wishing that I wasn't so useless.

I mentally added a flashlight to my shopping list.

"Find anything?" Dean rasped.

"Nah. Nothing so far," Sam whispered back. "Bella?"

"Yeah?" I answered quietly.

"Where'd you find your sweatshirt?" Sam asked.

"It was hanging on that rack with the other clothes," I supplied, gesturing toward the area in which Sam's beam of light currently rested.

"It was already there when you walked in? None of the employees moved it there after?"

"No," I shook my head, despite knowing that they wouldn't see the movement. "There was just an old woman and she stayed at the front counter the whole time, reading a book," I explained, certain that the woman hadn't moved while I looked around.

It was difficult to follow the brothers in the dark, with only the path of their flashlights to indicate their locations. Now that they had fallen silent again, I found myself yearning to break the silence.

"Maybe there were only three?" I suggested.

I bit lip, grunting in pain when I accidentally rammed my thigh into a table.

"Maybe," Sam conceded, though it was obvious from his tone that he didn't think that was the case.

I moved around the table, using Sam's voice as a homing beacon. They were a bit further away than I would have liked and I was growing uncomfortable in the darkness.

"When's it ever that easy?" Dean commented.

I redirected my steps toward the sound of Dean's voice, realizing that he was closer. I probably would have been hesitant to approach him if not for my growing anxiety. I froze when both of their lights simultaneously went out.

"Dean?" I croaked, my heart lodged in my throat. "Sam?"

I heard a crash and instinctively shot forward, trying to reach one of them. I didn't dare speak again, uncertain as to whether I would be leading whatever was in the dark straight towards me. At the sound of a male grunt and another crash, I fell to my knees, determined to crawl instead.

I felt along the floor, unable to hear over the unbearably loud sound of my heartbeat. Holding a hand out in front of me to check that I wouldn't run into anything, I wove between the tables. When one of my hands brushed a jean clad leg, I paused.

I swallowed down my embarrassment and felt up the leg to the torso, continuing my progress until I reached a familiar stubble. I almost breathed a sigh of relief, realizing that I had found Dean since Sam was always clean shaven. I patted his cheek lightly, hoping to rouse him.

"Dean?" I whispered.

I tried to check his pulse, but I had never been good at that sort of thing and began to panic when I couldn't find one. I moved my fingers from his neck to his nose, sighing in relief when I felt the warmth of his breath. Satisfied that he was alive, I grasped his shoulders and lightly shook him.

Distantly, I realized that I probably shouldn't jostle him in case he had a concussion, but it was dark and he _wasn't waking up_. All of my rationality had been diverted to restraining myself from yelling for Sam. As much as I wanted to, I knew that whoever had done this to Dean—and Sam—was still here.

My theory was confirmed when a pair of strong hands suddenly grasped me from behind, wrenching me off of Dean's prone form. I struggled against the grip around my head, trying desperately to hold my breath as I was smothered with a cloth.

_Chloroform_ , I thought dazedly.

Blurry images of similar scenes from television and movies drifted through my thoughts as my body weakened and my eyes finally slid shut.

...

The first thing I registered upon waking was _pain_. It felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to my temple. I could barely open my eyes against the persistent pounding, which worsened as a wave of dizziness threatened to overwhelm me.

I clenched my eyes shut, groaning as that small movement increased my pain. I tried to relax my facial muscles, huffing at the strain. Gradually, I became aware of the conversation going on around me.

" _Bondage?_ A little kinky for my taste."

My eyes snapped open at the sound of Dean's voice, recalling my panicked efforts to rouse him before I was drugged. The three of us were arranged in something of a triangle, leaving a large space between us. Along with Sam, Dean's hands and feet were tied to a chair. Flexing my own, I realized mine were bound too. I struggled for a second, wincing as each twist I made seemed to make the ropes tighten.

" _Finally_ , we can get this party started," a feminine voice sniffed from the corner, quickly gaining my attention. I craned my neck, trying to get a good look. "Best not to struggle though. It'll only make them tighter," she advised, gesturing to my hands. "Magic ropes and all that."

_Magic_ , I repeated mentally, wondering when I would stop being surprised by what was truly out there.

I stared at the woman for a long moment, struck with a strange sense of familiarity, though I was certain that I had never seen her before. The woman leaning against the wall was somewhere in her forties with light brown hair curled toward her neck. Her clothes were a little dated, but she was otherwise innocuous.

"Bella, are you okay?"

My gaze drifted to Sam, noting his worried look. Despite the circumstances, I felt a little warm faced with his genuine concern. After being treated so callously by Jacob and Dean, I was grateful to find that someone seemed to care.

"I'm fine," I reassured him, despite my unceasing headache.

"Yes, yes," the woman cut in, her tone impatient. "You're fine and _that's_ the problem."

I felt my eyebrows raise in confusion. Judging from the state of things, the brothers and I were pretty much at her mercy. If she wanted to hurt—or possibly kill—me, then she could have done so while I was unconscious. Why would she have kept me alive if that was a problem for her? Moreover, _who_ was she?

"It was you," Sam deduced, almost as if in answer to my thoughts. "The cursed objects came from you."

"I should think that was obvious," the woman replied.

"Does your mother know you've been using her shop as your own personal smorgasbord? Doubt that'll win you the daughter of the year award," Dean muttered gruffly.

The woman smirked as she drifted closer.

"My mother's been dead for hundreds of years."

I stared at her, finally realizing why she seemed so familiar.

"You're...the old woman?" I asked in disbelief. "How?"

" _Gretchen_ is my name," the woman supplied, standing in the space between us. "For every victim my cursed treasures claim, I grow younger," she explained, her tone radiating pride. "Three curses, three victims. Three lives sacrificed for a greater purpose."

"I wouldn't call vanishing a few wrinkles a greater purpose," Dean remarked.

I understood being self-conscious about your age—growing older while Edward remained the same had been a great source of anxiety for me—but this was different. This was killing innocent people to shave a few years off.

"How long have you been doing this? How many innocent people have you slaughtered over the years?" Sam demanded.

"It's impolite to ask a lady her age," Gretchen reprimanded, though her tone remained light. "Nothing is free, you know. Maintaining this body has its price."

"And you have no problem paying that with people like Sally or Tom."

"I don't pick them," she revealed, brushing imaginary lint off of her blouse. "All I do is cast a little spell and wait. The curse chooses for me."

"So...that's why we couldn't find any of the cursed objects until after their owner was dead. Because there aren't any," Sam realized.

"Until the victim best suited for the curse comes into contact with _their_ object? No, there aren't," Gretchen confirmed. "You see, it all comes down to compulsion. Fairytales have a way of working themselves out. Of course, I can ensure that the result is a little more...macabre than more recent interpretations."

She raised one of her hands to her neck and we watched as she pulled a necklace out of the front of her blouse. The chain wasn't anything special, but the bright red gem dangling on the end was certainly unique.

"I've been doing this for centuries. I've become very efficient at it."

Gretchen paused and I was surprised when she moved to stand in front of me. I stared up at her, shocked by the sudden venom in her eyes. Up until this moment, she had been eerily calm. I didn't understand what I could have done to cause her ire.

"Most of my victims don't live for more than a few hours after the curse has begun. And yet, here you are...alive _days_ later," Gretchen said and I could hear a note of accusation in her tone.

"Guess you're getting a little sloppy in your old age," Dean taunted.

My eyes widened as Gretchen stormed over to Dean and struck him in the face. He grunted with the impact and I realized that she must have had magical help because despite her age, her blow managed to split Dean's lip open.

"Bella."

I glanced at Sam quickly, wondering what he could want at a time like this.

"He's fine," Sam said, nodding at my body. "You need to calm down."

I looked down and gritted my teeth as I registered the pain coming from the rapidly tightening ropes. I settled back into my seat quickly, realizing that I had unconsciously started struggling when Gretchen had struck Dean.

My gaze flitted back to Dean and I felt a wave of relief to see that his signature cocky grin was firmly in place. How he could manage to look so unfazed and in control while tied down to a chair was beyond me.

"I know _you_ interfered in her fairytale," Gretchen hissed, glaring at Dean. "The lumberjack. _The Hunter_. You weren't supposed to be a part of _my_ rendition of Little Red Riding Hood."

"Can't say I feel guilty about screwing up your plans," Dean smirked.

Gretchen stared at him for a long moment.

"I'm going to carve you up like a Thanksgiving Day turkey," she promised.

"I hope you're not planning on adding stuffing. That's _definitely_ too kinky for me," Dean commented, though Gretchen ignored him as she stalked back over to me.

"Tell me how you did it."

My brows furrowed in confusion.

"Did what?"

"Tell me how you managed to resist the pull for so long," she demanded. "You must have felt it. That tug beneath your skin, that _need_ to immerse yourself in the role."

I stared at her, trying to recall a moment when I had experienced what she was describing. I had been feeling restless lately and now that I thought about it, my focus had drifted to entering the forest quite a few times, but I didn't think it had been _that bad_.

Those feelings seemed tied more to my need to flee from my emotions than fulfill some kind of curse.

"I didn't—"

Gretchen cut me off, grabbing my chin roughly. I winced as her nails sunk into my skin.

"She obviously doesn't know what you're talking about!" Sam protested loudly, though Gretchen ignored him.

" _Don't lie_ ," she hissed. "You should have been the first victim and yet, _here you are_. You must have done _something_."

"Maybe your equipment is just faulty!" Dean called, obviously trying to draw her attention away as well.

Their words continued to fall on deaf ears.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I insisted. "I didn't _do_ anything."

Gretchen's gaze turned calculating as she stared at me. After a long moment of silently assessing my honesty—and who knew what else—she finally released me. I unclenched my jaw, watching her settle back into the calm persona she had adopted in the beginning.

"Fine. _Don't tell me_. It doesn't matter. I'm certain I can come up with a way to loosen that tongue," Gretchen smiled darkly. "Or maybe I'll just eat your heart."

I swallowed.

"And what about me?" Sam asked, obviously still trying to gain her attention.

I was admittedly grateful when it finally worked.

"You?" Gretchen sidled closer and Sam's jaw clenched as she ran a nail down his cheek.

This woman clearly had no respect for personal boundaries.

"I think I'll keep you," she murmured. "You've got a strong jaw and I could always use a little entertainment."

I gaped at her in disbelief. Was she suggesting what I _thought_ she was suggesting? Perhaps spending so much time with Dean had affected my thought processes. I blushed despite myself, wondering if my thoughts would forever dwell in the gutter now.

A long moment of stunned silence passed before it was inevitably broken by the man who could never resist a good punch line.

"Lady, you give a whole new meaning to the word _desperate_."

Gretchen glared at Dean, but once again, she chose not to respond. I twisted my neck as she moved passed me, watching her walk out of the room without a word. I reluctantly turned back around after a moment, wishing she hadn't positioned me so that my back was facing the door.

I was starting to get a crick in my neck from the odd angle and the added tension in my body was hardly helping. My bonds were already constricting without giving the magical ropes another reason to tighten.

"So what's the plan?" I asked, keeping my voice pitched low in case Gretchen was listening in.

"Just to get these ropes untied," Sam muttered, flexing his hands. I watched his bonds tighten in response and winced sympathetically. "There isn't much we can do otherwise. Though, I think the key to stopping her is probably in that necklace..."

"Maybe Sammy here could try seducing her," Dean suggested, wiggling his eyebrows.

Sam rolled his eyes, obviously not finding that comment worthy of a response.

"So...how do you cut magical ropes?" I wondered.

"Burn them, maybe?" Sam supplied. "I don't know."

"When in doubt, fire usually does work," Dean agreed, his calculating gaze flitting around the room. "Too bad we're fresh outta that."

I chewed on my lip, determined not to panic even as the situation was beginning to seem rather dire. Although I had been in the middle of dangerous situations quite often in the last year or so, this was a bit different.

More often than not, it was about adrenaline and snap decisions. There wasn't much time to worry or think about what was to come. My altercations with those men in Port Angeles, Laurent, and the ghost of Joseph Clancy Jr. had been sudden and thus my actions had been based almost entirely on instinct.

The only exception was when I faced James, but that hardly took much thought either. I couldn't afford to think beyond the facts—Renee was in danger and Alice would _see_ if I put more than a second's thought into my actions.

At the time, I probably would have been grateful for a pause button or a brief moment to just _think_. Now though, with Sam and Dean bound in front of me admitting that they were out of ideas, I longed for the adrenaline that came when making life or death decisions with nothing but those gut feelings.

"Don't worry, Bella. We'll find a way out of this," Sam reassured me with a smile.

I felt my lips quirk in reply, despite my doubt. I glanced at Dean, surprised when I met his gaze. His expression was carefully blank and I tried not to feel too frustrated that even the threat of death hadn't made him anymore forgiving.

I wondered how long I would have to look at that mask, made all the more hurtful by Sam's easy acceptance and concern. As the sound of Gretchen's return put an end to our conversation, I wondered if I would even survive long enough to see that day.

My eyebrows rose as Gretchen entered my line of sight, wheeling a cart laden with an outrageous amount of sweets. It seemed that every dessert imaginable was present, gathered in sugary mounds that were piled so high they were already toppling over into other dishes.

"This is getting kinkier and kinkier by the minute," Dean muttered, gaze fixed on the array of dishes.

Gretchen produced a white cloth from within her pocket, taking a moment to shake out the wrinkles before she spoke.

"I don't choose my victims—not usually—but that doesn't mean that I can't," Gretchen murmured. "Just a little bit of hair and a drop of blood will suffice."

I stiffened, realizing that she could have gotten both from any of us after knocking us out. She could have done anything, really. That thought made me feel a little sick.

"Gretchen—listen. Do you really want to keep doing this?" Sam implored. "Haven't you lived long enough? Aren't you _tired_?"

Dean cringed as Gretchen gripped his hair harshly and yanked his head back. I held my breath at the sight of his exposed neck, unused to seeing him so vulnerable. Of course, Dean maintained his composure , gritting his teeth as Gretchen stuffed the cloth into the neck of his shirt like a bib.

I gasped as Dean's eyes suddenly flashed red and Gretchen released him with a satisfied smile.

"See? Perfect fit," Gretchen announced happily.

"What did you just do to him?" I demanded as Dean blinked his eyes furiously, shaking his head.

"Same thing I did to you," Gretchen replied. "Although judging by the look of him, I'd say this one actually took."

Gretchen was right—something was definitely wrong with Dean. He had stopped blinking, but now his eyes were opened a little too wide and were fixed on the cart of desserts which had been conveniently wheeled in front of him.

"Dean?" Sam spoke, though Dean seemed not to have heard him. " _Dean_ ," Sam repeated, a little louder.

"What?" Dean barked, finally answering.

Despite his reply to Sam, Dean's gaze remained fixed on the sweets. I frowned as he began shifting in his seat, causing his bonds to tighten.

"Dean, whatever compulsion you're feeling, you need to resist it," Sam said, an edge of desperation to his words.

"I know..." Dean acknowledged, shooting Sam a quick glance. "But I'm _starving_."

Dean's struggles increased and I watched in horror as some of the ropes tightened enough to draw blood.

"You said it took hours for the other victims to feel the full effects!" I exclaimed.

"The other victims weren't annoying," Gretchen replied simply.

"Let him go! Can't you see he can't stop moving?" I demanded, growing frantic myself. "The ropes—" I choked.

From the now full blown smile on Gretchen's face, it was clear that she was getting a sick thrill out of this—watching Dean hurt himself. Needless to say, I was surprised when she waved her hand and his bonds loosened.

Dean didn't waste any time in wrenching himself free, but any hope I had of escaping was dashed when he sprang for the cart, immediately beginning to stuff his face. From his wide eyes and the frenzied way he swallowed down mouthfuls of sweets, it was obvious that he had lost control.

"Dean?" I whispered in disbelief.

"Can't...stop," Dean gasped in between bites.

In another situation, Dean's gluttony might have been amusing. It was hardly a secret that Dean had a bit of a sweet tooth, particularly where pies were concerned.

This...wasn't. Seeing the desperation in Dean's eyes made this the absolute opposite of funny.

"Hansel and Gretel," Gretchen announced, plopping herself in Dean's vacant seat. "Well... _Hansel,_ anyway."

"Please stop," I begged, unable to tear my gaze away from Dean.

"No," Gretchen chuckled. "He'll never stop." She stood up from the chair, moving to stand behind Dean. "And why should he?" I gritted my teeth as she placed her hand on his head, petting him like a dog. "He's so... _hungry_."

Dean didn't even flinch at her touch, but merely kept... _consuming_. I felt sick. I clenched my eyes shut for a moment, wishing that this wasn't happening—that we had some kind of plan— _anything_ to keep my mind focused on something other than what was transpiring in front of me.

I was so lost in my own thoughts that I didn't realize Gretchen had moved until she roughly grasped my chin. My eyes snapped open and I glared up at her. I clenched my jaw as she leaned forward, further invading my personal space.

"None of that now," she murmured into my ear. "I want you to _watch_."

Despite the way she towered over me, I realized I still had a direct line of sight to Dean. I stared over her shoulder, surprised when Dean suddenly met my gaze. He was still eating—he _couldn't stop_ —but he looked less crazed.

My eyes widened when he winked at me.

"This is just the beginning," Gretchen spoke softly, though the threat in her voice was clear. "When he can't move... When he's eaten so much he can barely _breathe_... I'll gut him. And I'll make you watch."

I could practically hear Gretchen's smirk when I gasped, though my response had little to do with her words. They might have been more effective if I wasn't watching Dean shift closer to Sam with a pile of pie in his arms, still shoving food into his mouth.

"You could make this so much easier on yourself... On _him_ ," Gretchen whispered. "Just tell me how _you_ resisted and I'll let him die in peace."

"But how would I have... I didn't..." I stuttered.

Had I really done something to put off my fairytale curse? Could I have done so without realizing it?

"What will it take!" Gretchen shrieked suddenly, wrenching back in outrage.

I panicked at the quick movement, realizing that I needed to keep her attention focused on me. I tried to keep my gaze averted from the brothers, so that I wouldn't give them away. I opened my mouth to say... _something_...and flinched when Gretchen grabbed my chin again. Her nails sunk into my skin painfully.

"What do I have to do to make you tell me? What—should I be focusing on Sam instead?" Gretchen sneered, beginning to turn her head.

" _No!_ " I screamed, wrenching forward and hissing as my ropes immediately tightened.

"No?" Gretchen murmured with a satisfied smirk.

My eyes widened in panic as she began to turn again.

" _Don't_ ," I pleaded desperately. "I'll—I'll tell you."

Gretchen's smirk was positively evil, but the delight in her eyes was unmistakable. I supposed that it would bother anyone to discover fault in a system that had worked flawlessly for hundreds of years. I wracked my brain for some kind of explanation as to how I had supposedly evaded the curse.

"I—I've been too drunk to feel the effects," I told her, recalling the day Dean and I had drank those beers.

Gretchen lifted an eyebrow. "Nice try. Alcohol doesn't make a difference. Drunk or not, you would've completed your fairytale."

I grunted as Gretchen struck me, making my head snap back and the wound on my lip resume bleeding. The left side of my face stung viciously, but I refused to show my pain, not wanting to give her the satisfaction.

"Tell me the truth, or I'll start working on Sam. It _won't_ be pretty."

I glanced behind her, resisting the urge to smirk as Sam's ropes crumbled into ash under the flame of Dean's lighter.

"The truth is..." I paused, waiting till Sam was just behind her. "You're an _old hag_ and no matter how many people you drain, you'll still just be _an old hag_."

The enraged look on her face was _priceless_. My gaze slid to Sam and, seeing my attention waver, Gretchen whipped around to face him. Before she could so much as gasp, Sam ripped the necklace off of her and tossed it to Dean, who had stopped gorging himself.

Gretchen screamed as Dean threw it to the floor and stomped harshly on the gem. I watched her stagger back, the viciously pleased look that was on her face for most of the night replaced with one of absolute horror.

She stared at her hands, shrieking shrilly as her skin wrinkled and cracked. It would seem that the years were catching up with her as her cheeks grew hollow and her eyes sunken. I was unable to tear my gaze away as Gretchen grew increasingly corpse-like before quickly fading into a pile of dust.

The room was quiet, though Gretchen's dying screams seemed to echo in the stillness. It was several moments before Dean broke it.

" _You'll always be an old hag_ ," Dean mimicked in a high pitched voice. "We really need to work on your banter."

I stared up at him in disbelief. I thought _old hag_ had been pretty good—not to mention that he just used the word _banter_ , which he had previously teased me for doing.

"And _you_ need to go on a diet," I countered, noting the whipped cream, chocolate, and jam smeared across his face.

I smiled as Sam burst into laughter and Dean rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath. Admittedly, I would prefer Dean's pouting to his distance any day.

"Um... A little help?" I asked after a moment, indicating the magical ropes still keeping me bound to my chair.

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Characters:
> 
> -Agent Ford—Dean Winchester  
> -Agent Hamill—Sam Winchester  
> -Miss Fisher—Bella Swan
> 
> -Victim 1—Sally "Goldie" Johnson  
> -Victim 2—Tom Addleston  
> -Shop Owner—Gretchen  
> -Waitress—Jenny  
> -Victims of Break-in— The Karins  
> -Soup Kitchen Volunteer—Anna Felsing  
> -Guest Star—Jacob Black


	9. Part IX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Do you think that I hopped into a car with two strangers and rode with them across the state just for kicks?"

My duffle bag dangled by my side as I took another step into the forest, looking for a sign of Jacob. Despite Gretchen's death, Sam and Dean still thought it wise to investigate the possibility of such an unnaturally large wolf living out here. For all any of us knew, the woman had been keeping a pet.

That was their theory. Of course, they couldn't know how different Jacob had looked. Considering that the other curses had targeted people that already fit the descriptions—Sally's golden curls and my red sweater—I doubted that the Jacob I saw had been a byproduct of the curse. At least, not entirely.

I was glad when Sam and Dean had insisted on my remaining in the motel room. Their absence gave me the opportunity to conduct my search and hopefully prevent them from exacting their own brand of justice on Jacob—assuming my theories were correct.

So after shoving my dirty laundry in my duffle bag—I needed something to explain why I had left and subsequently became locked out of the motel room—and making a quick stop at a gas station for my own flashlight, I had returned to the forest to seek Jacob out.

If I was right, then Jacob would realize I was here and show himself.

There was a long stretch of time in which I tried to ignore the heaviness of the darkness, as well as my injuries. Sam had managed to patch me up before they left, but there were so many new wounds that it was difficult to concentrate on much else.

"Bella."

I whipped around at the sound of Jacob's voice, shining my flashlight on his face. He squinted against the light, but otherwise didn't move. I trailed the beam down his torso, taking note of his similar state of dress, with the exception of the addition of a t-shirt. He didn't appear to be hurt, but I knew that might change if he didn't leave soon.

"You need to leave," I warned without preamble.

Jacob took a hesitant step forward, but when I reflexively took a step back in reply, he stopped.

"Bella, I'm sorry," he said, his voice almost pained. "I don't know what happened before, but you have to know... You have to know that I'd never hurt you like that—"

"I know," I cut him off, taking a deep breath as I prepared to explain. "Most of that...wasn't your fault," I acknowledged. "You were under the influence of a curse."

"A curse?" Jacob repeated, disbelievingly. "Okay, so vampires exist, but that doesn't mean fairies or unicorns do too," he laughed.

I couldn't help but notice that while he had apologized for his behavior before, he failed to comment on the fact that he had _turned into a gigantic wolf_. I would have thought that would have been the most shocking part of our encounter, but perhaps for _him_ it wasn't.

"And werewolves?" I accused, watching intently for his reaction.

His responding cringe was practically a confession.

"So...you're a werewolf," I said.

Jacob's jaw clenched, but after a moment, he nodded.

I stared at him, once again noting all of the differences between this Jacob and the one I had once known. I should have been surprised that one of my friends had also turned out to be a supernatural being, but I wasn't.

I think I was becoming desensitized to it all.

"How long?" I asked, though considering the extreme physical changes he had gone through, I figured I already knew.

"I started... _changing_...that night you thought I had the flu."

"I'm pretty sure Harry said you had mono."

"Right," Jacob muttered and if it wasn't so dark, I thought he might have blushed.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I asked, unable to keep the hurt out of my voice.

I had been so worried about him and yet, he had continued to dodge my calls. I had thought we were friends, but I supposed we weren't as close as I had thought. Despite my feelings about him now, it was a painful realization to come to.

"I wanted to, but...I couldn't," Jacob admitted, before quickly going on the offensive. "Besides, what would I have said? How do you tell the _vamp girl_ that you're turning into a werewolf?" he sneered.

"Vamp girl?" I repeated.

"That's what they call you. Because of how much you loved those bloodsuckers. They didn't want me to be around you, much less reveal our secret."

"It sounds like you did join a cult," I muttered bitterly, trying not to think about all of them sitting around a campfire, discussing my life.

"It isn't," Jacob snapped, obviously offended. Considering the way he was acting, I couldn't find it in me to care. "I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to."

"What do you mean?" I asked, curious despite myself.

"We're a pack. And every pack has an Alpha. Sam gave an alpha order _not_ to reveal our secret. Orders like that... You just can't break."

 _Still sounds like a cult_ , I thought, but I refrained from pointing that out.

I didn't know much about werewolf lore, but I couldn't imagine losing control of my life like that.

"Then why are we talking about it now? Doesn't this go against your... _orders_?" I asked, muttering the last word with distaste.

"I didn't though, don't you see? I couldn't reveal my secret, but if you figured it out..." Jacob trailed off with a trace of the happy grin I was once used to seeing.

The expression didn't sit quite right with the recently hardened angles of his face.

"It'll be easier...now that you know," Jacob continued. "And when we get back to Forks, you can tell me all about the vampires. Wait till you hear about some of the stuff that's been happening on the Rez..."

Jacob took another step forward, but this time, my responding step back was deliberate.

"I'm not going back, Jake."

"What?" he asked, the smile slipping off his face.

"I can't go back... Not after everything."

Jacob's expression was incredulous, but I remained silent. After a moment, he sighed heavily.

"Listen, Bella... I never would have said those things—"

"But you meant them, didn't you?" I cut him off.

"You're wrong."

"Please don't lie to me. I want the truth—you owe me that much."

"But it's like you said before... The curse—"

"Compels you to do things, yes. But it doesn't put words into your mouth. Those words...they were yours," I pointed out.

It would have been easy to blame the curse, to pretend that those hurtful words hadn't come from Jacob. I knew the truth though and while I was able to forgive a lot of things, I knew I wouldn't be able to forget this. Even looking at him now was difficult. Every time he opened his mouth, I could almost hear a faint echo of those words and a phantom press of his lips insistently against mine.

I felt abandoned and used—always the victim. I was sick of it.

I couldn't decide whether Jacob's telling silence was worse than if he had continued to argue. I wouldn't have believed him if he had, but still. Knowing something and having it confirmed were two very different things.

"What about Charlie?" Jacob asked, obviously beginning to grasp at straws.

I felt bitter resentment flare inside me at Jacob's triumphant look when I cringed. It was obvious that he was trying to manipulate me and for a moment, I wondered if he had always been like that. Was becoming a werewolf similar to turning into a vampire? Had Jacob really changed, or had his personality traits merely been heightened?

"Charlie is better off without me," I muttered.

"How can you say that?" Jacob asked incredulously. "He's been worried sick about you. You just left without word—"

"What do you think is going on here?" I demanded, gesturing around us. "Do you think that I hopped into a car with two strangers and rode with them across the state _just for kicks?_ "

 _No_ , I thought, _he thinks I did it to fulfill some kind of kinky crave for danger._

"Laurent—that vampire you were going on about earlier—he tried to kill me, Jake. And you want to know who saved me?" I asked, my voice rising. " _They_ did."

Jacob snorted. "So what, now you owe them or something? They don't sound like good guys to me," he added blithely.

" _No_ ," I replied in what was nearly a growl. "Did you ever wonder _why_ Laurent was there?" I asked, getting an unreasonable amount of pleasure out of the uncertainty that was now present on his face. "He was there for _me_. And that's not all," I continued before he could interrupt. "There's another one after me too—Victoria."

"This is because of Cullen, isn't it?" Jacob murmured after a moment, his tone full of censure.

"This is because _Edward_ killed Victoria's mate when he tried to _eat me_. She wants revenge."

I watched Jacob's gaze harden with determination.

"Then you need to come home. I— _the Pack_ can protect you," he spoke emphatically.

I shook my head. "It's better this way. The further away I am from Forks, the less danger I'm putting Charlie in. Sam and Dean know what they're doing."

"You really think you're safer with them than me?" Jacob asked in disbelief.

 _Yes,_ I thought, _because despite what you think, neither of them has forced themselves on me._

"Look—I don't expect you to understand, but...I'm better for having left."

"So that's all it took? A week away from Forks with two guys _you just met_ and that's it? You're over Edward?"

I flinched, hearing the accusation in his words.

"No—definitely not," I sighed. "I don't think...I don't think I'll ever get over him. But doing this...hunting monsters... _saving_ people...it—it makes it hurt less."

"And how long do you think this can last?" Jacob wondered. "How long do you think they'll let you tag along before—"

"Before they leave me too?" I snapped bitterly. "I don't know. But I think...I think I'm going to try to stay with them as long as I can."

I took a deep breath, wishing that I could keep these thoughts to myself. I wanted Jacob to understand though, at least, enough to show my resolve and get him to accept what I was saying.

"I know it can't last..." I admitted, quietly. "Hell, Dean already seems to hate me—thanks to you," I pointed out. "But...I'm still better off with them. I can't...I can't go back to Forks. I can't go back there just to...rot."

Jacob stared at me for a moment, lost for words.

"You're gonna get yourself killed," he said finally, though he seemed to have given up.

"I'd rather die fighting than just...fade away," I muttered.

I could remember how my life used to be, back in Forks. Between those months of apathy to my eventual shift into an adrenaline junkie, it was obvious that I hadn't been alright. I still wasn't, but it was difficult to give into those tendencies in the midst of a hunt.

Being with the brothers gave me something to focus on—something beyond me. As new as I was to this kind of life, I was still able to help. What the brothers were doing actually _meant_ something and being able to contribute—even if it was only in the smallest of ways—made me feel a little less worthless.

Sam and Dean's penchant for making sarcastic quips—regardless of the situation—certainly helped improve my mood, too. Thinking about the brothers and feeling the weight of my duffle bag hanging at my side, reminded me of the time. They hadn't stumbled upon us yet, but I doubted our luck would continue if we stood here much longer.

Besides, if I wanted Sam and Dean to buy my reason for being out, I needed to get to a Laundromat.

"You really need to leave now, Jake," I paused, weighing my next words. "They...they hunt monsters."

When he cringed this time, I didn't get any pleasure from it, nor from causing the wounded look on his face. It reminded me of how Charlie had looked when I had said those things so that I could run away in a ploy to trick James. An unsettling feeling sunk in as I realized that I might be just as manipulative as Jacob.

I watched him turn his back to me and retreat into the forest without so much as a glance. I tried not to think about how—if I ended up dying at the end of this whole affair—those biting words would be the last thing I had said to him.

...

It wasn't until sometime during the night that the dam finally broke. My hands shook as I pulled the blanket back and I sat upright, shifting my feet to the floor. A powerful shudder wracked my body as the events of the day finally caught up with me.

I bit my lip, attempting to muffle any sound. I didn't have to worry about waking Dean—a room had opened up and he had practically jumped at the chance to move to a new bed—but Sam was another story.

I slowly slid out of bed, pulling on my coat and shoes before quietly leaving the room. Although part of me was a little hurt that Dean was so eager to distance himself from me, I was grateful that his absence had afforded me the other key to the room.

I gently shut the door and shifted over to lean against the wall. The tears came unbidden and I exhaled shakily, finally allowing myself to crumble. I slid to the floor, cradling my head against my knees as I gripped my legs tightly.

I was surprised I had lasted so long, that I had managed to push everything deep down until this moment of seclusion. Everything—from the venomous words to the cruel taunts—swam through my head, shattering the walls I had carefully maintained throughout most of the day.

There weren't any gut-wrenching sobs, though I did have a fair share of whimpers to muffle. This breakdown seemed more intent on keeping that burning pain in my chest alight, reminding me of the void that claimed residence there.

All of that time I spent with Jacob before I left, before he _changed_ , felt tainted. I found myself wishing that I could go back to how things once were, when Jacob was my best friend and I didn't feel so damn _bitter_.

Between the recent bursts of anger and the unsettling feelings of resentment toward Jacob, I was beginning to feel like I was losing myself. I supposed I preferred yelling to crying, but I wasn't sure what this change meant.

Equally troubling, was Dean's behavior. I didn't understand why it bothered me so much to see him pull away. Of course, life would be easier if we got along, but it shouldn't have _mattered_. Despite what I told Jacob, I shouldn't have wanted to stay with Sam and Dean so badly.

Yet, I could feel Dean's disappointment like a weight on my chest, fervently pressing down.

I cringed when I heard the door click open and quickly wiped my eyes. I prepared to get up, silently praying that Sam would just let this go without comment.

I was surprised when he abruptly sat down beside me, casually resting his arms on his knees. He didn't look at me, but kept his gaze directed in front of him instead. It took me a moment to realize that he was giving me privacy and despite the ache that had been settling in my chest, I felt a bit of warmth from the gesture.

Of course, this triggered more tears, but this time, I didn't try to hide them. I mimicked his pose, keeping my gaze averted in front of me. My thoughts were oddly blank, as if the volume of my worries had been turned down. They still remained, but seemed soothed by either Sam's presence or the outlet of tears, which felt far more like a _release_ than the unending torrent they had been earlier.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I asked suddenly, shifting around to face him.

Sam glanced at me in surprise, whether from the break in silence or what I had said, I didn't know. Still, I figured it would be best to clarify.

"After everything you found out about me today, you're still..." I paused, uncertain of how I meant to finish that thought. "It's just that Dean..." I trailed off, once again at a loss for words.

I had made my fair share of declarations today, so perhaps I had run out of words. Judging from Sam's expression, he seemed to understand what I was trying to say.

"I guess I just don't...see things as black-and-white as he does," Sam replied.

"So...it doesn't bother you then? That I...loved a vampire?" I asked quietly, almost afraid to hear the answer.

I grimaced when he didn't reply, letting my gaze fall to my lap.

"Dean wouldn't understand..." Sam spoke, hesitatingly. "He's never...he's never really been in love...I don't think."

"But you have?" I asked.

"Not to a vampire," Sam smirked. "But yeah."

I thought about Sam and Dean's lives. With all of the evil out there, I couldn't imagine there would be much time for falling in love. The fact that Sam hadn't mentioned a woman since I met him was sadly telling. I didn't know what had happened to her, but I decided not to ask.

"He really was a good guy," I spoke quietly. "As much as he hurt me when he left, it doesn't...it doesn't change anything." I gripped my legs tighter. "He was a good guy."

Sam nodded, though I couldn't tell if he actually believed what I was saying, or if he was just trying to placate me.

"He's a vegetarian, you know." Sam raised an eyebrow at that. "He hunts animals."

"He told you that?" Sam asked.

Although his tone was mild, I didn't miss the suggestion in his words.

"He did," I agreed. "But he didn't really have to. When a vampire drinks only animal blood, their eyes turn gold," I explained, my tone a touch wistful.

I could still see those golden eyes in my head, when I let myself. It was difficult though, as they would often harden as they had when he told me he didn't want me anymore.

I shook those thoughts away—I had cried enough tonight.

"Really?" Sam asked in surprise.

"Yeah, they're only red when they're a newborn or if they drink human blood."

Sam opened his mouth to respond, but I quickly cut him off, having anticipated what he was going to ask next.

"They weren't contacts," I said. "You would've been able to see the red under them if they were."

"Right," Sam conceded.

I shifted back into my previous position, letting my thoughts wander. We stayed like that for several more minutes before Sam finally stood and offered his hand. I stared at it for a moment before I grasped it, allowing him to pull me up.

It was nice to talk about Edward with someone who wouldn't pass judgment. As much as I had wanted to be alone tonight, I was grateful for Sam's presence. I followed him silently inside, determined not to let Dean's distance get to me in the days ahead.

...

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline:
> 
> March 4th — The Meadow Scene with Laurent
> 
> March 4th-7th — Spokane
> 
> March 7th — Kennewick
> 
> Keep in mind that once the brothers intervened with Laurent, the order of events for the rest of New Moon was thrown out of whack. Don't expect Alice to suddenly get a vision of Bella's death on whatever date she did in the book. I'm posting this timeline merely to show you how long Bella has been travelling with the brothers and where they have been so far.


End file.
